ONCE 
UPON  A  TIME 


BY 

RICHARD  HARDING   DAVIS 


ILLUSTRATED 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK:::::::::::::::::::::::::i9ii 


COPYRIGHT,  zoiOf  »T 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


2- 


TO 
GOUVERNEUR   MORRIS 


CONTENTS 

A  QUESTION  OF  LATITUDE    .     . 
THE  SPY  . 


•     •      37 
THE  MESSENGERS 

A  WASTED  DAY 

A  CHARMED  LIFE 

THE  AMATEUR 

THE  MAKE-BELIEVE  MAN IQ3 

PEACE  MANOEUVRES 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  Then,  how  did  you  suppose  your  sister  was  going  to 

read  it?" Frontispiece 

FACING  PACE 

Schnitzel  was  smiling  to  himself 52 

"  Schnitzel,  you  certainly  are  a  magnificent  liar  "  .     .      58 
"I  think,"  said  Ainsley,  "they  have  lost  their  way"        90 

"Was  it  you,"  demanded  young  Andrews,  in  a  puz 
zled  tone,  "or  your  brother  who  tried  to  knife 
me?" 108 

Mr.  Thorndike  stood  irresolute,  and  then  sank  back 

into  his  chair 116 

"  Do  I  look  as  easy  as  that,  or  are  you  just  naturally 

foolish?" 182 

She  was  easily  the  prettiest  and  most  striking-looking 

woman  in  the  room  188 


A  QUESTION  OF  LATITUDE 


A  QUESTION  OF  LATITUDE 

OF  the  school  of  earnest  young  writers  at 
whom  the  word  muckraker  had  been  thrown 
in  opprobrium,  and  by  whom  it  had  been  caught 
up  as  a  title  of  honor,  Everett  was  among  the 
younger  and  less  conspicuous.  But,  if  in  his  skir 
mishes  with  graft  and  corruption  he  had  failed  to 
correct  the  evils  he  attacked,  from  the  contests  he 
himself  had  always  emerged  with  credit.  His  sin 
cerity  and  his  methods  were  above  suspicion.  No 
one  had  caught  him  in  misstatement,  or  exag 
geration.  Even  those  whom^he  attacked,  admitted 
he  fought  fair.  For  these  reasons,  the  editors  of 
magazines,  with  the  fear  of  libel  before  their  eyes, 
regarded  him  as  a  "safe"  man,  the  public,  feeling 
that  the  evils  he  exposed  were  due  to  its  own  indif 
ference,  with  uncomfortable  approval,  and  those 
he  attacked,  with  impotent  anger.  Their  anger 
was  impotent  because,  in  the  case  of  Everett,  the 
weapons  used  by  their  class  in  "striking  back" 
were  denied  them.  They  could  not  say  that  for 
money  he  sold  sensations,  because  it  was  known 

3 


:.Kcb  a  Time 


that  a  proud  and  wealthy  parent  supplied  him 
with  all  the  money  he  wanted.  Nor  in  his  private 
life  could  they  find  anything  to  offset  his  attacks 
upon  the  misconduct  of  others.  Men  had  been 
sent  to  spy  upon  him,  and  women  to  lay  traps. 
But  the  men  reported  that  his  evenings  were  spent 
at  his  club,  and,  from  the  women,  those  who  sent 
them  learned  only  that  Everett  "treats  a  lady  just 
as  though  she  is  a  lady." 

Accordingly,  when,  with  much  trumpeting,  he 
departed  to  investigate  conditions  in  the  Congo, 
there  were  some  who  rejoiced. 

The  standard  of  life  to  which  Everett  was  ac 
customed  was  high.  In  his  home  in  Boston  it 
had  been  set  for  him  by  a  father  and  mother  who, 
though  critics  rather  than  workers  in  the  world, 
had  taught  him  to  despise  what  was  mean  and 
ungenerous,  to  write  the  truth  and  abhor  a  com 
promise.  At  Harvard  he  had  interested  himself 
in  municipal  reform,  and  when  later  he  moved  to 
New  York,  he  transferred  his  interest  to  the  prob 
lems  of  that  city.  His  attack  upon  Tammany 
Hall  did  not  utterly  destroy  that  organization,  but 
at  once  brought  him  to  the  notice  of  the  editors. 
By  them  he  was  invited  to  tilt  his  lance  at  evils  in 
other  parts  of  the  United  States,  at  "systems," 
trusts,  convict  camps,  municipal  misrule.  His 

4 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

work  had  met  with  a  measure  of  success  that 
seemed  to  justify  Lowell's  Weekly  in  sending  him 
further  afield,  and  he  now  was  on  his  way  to  tell 
the  truth  about  the  Congo.  Personally,  Everett  was 
a  healthy,  clean-minded  enthusiast.  He  possessed 
all  of  the  advantages  of  youth,  and  all  of  its  intol 
erance.  He  was  supposed  to  be  engaged  to  Flor 
ence  Carey,  but  he  was  not.  There  was,  however, 
between  them  an  "understanding,"  which  under 
standing,  as  Everett  understood  it,  meant  that  until 
she  was  ready  to  say,  "I  am  ready,"  he  was  to 
think  of  her,  dream  of  her,  write  love-letters  to  her, 
and  keep  himself  only  for  her.  He  loved  her  very 
dearly,  and,  having  no  choice,  was  content  to 
wait.  His  content  was  fortunate,  as  Miss  Carey 
seemed  inclined  to  keep  him  waiting  indefinitely. 

Except  in  Europe,  Everett  had  never  travelled 
outside  the  limits  of  his  own  country.  But  the 
new  land  toward  which  he  was  advancing  held 
no  terrors.  As  he  understood  it,  the  Congo  was 
at  the  mercy  of  a  corrupt  "ring."  In  every  part 
of  the  United  States  he  had  found  a  city  in  the 
clutch  of  a  corrupt  ring.  The  conditions  would 
be  the  same,  the  methods  he  would  use  to  get  at 
the  truth  would  be  the  same,  the  result  for  reform 
would  be  the  same. 

The  English  steamer  on  which  he  sailed  for 
5 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

Southampton  was  one  leased  by  the  Independent 
State  of  the  Congo,  and,  with  a  few  exceptions, 
her  passengers  were  subjects  of  King  Leopold. 
On  board,  the  language  was  French,  at  table  the 
men  sat  according  to  the  rank  they  held  in  the 
administration  of  the  jungle,  and  each  in  his  but 
tonhole  wore  the  tiny  silver  star  that  showed  that 
for  three  years,  to  fill  the  storehouses  of  the  King 
of  the  Belgians,  he  had  gathered  rubber  and  ivory. 
In  the  smoking-room  Everett  soon  discovered  that 
passengers  not  in  the  service  of  that  king,  the 
English  and  German  officers  and  traders,  held 
aloof  from  the  Belgians.  Their  attitude  toward 
them  seemed  to  be  one  partly  of  contempt,  partly 
of  pity. 

"Are  your  English  protectorates  on  the  coast, 
then,  so  much  better  administered?"  Everett 
asked. 

The  English  Coaster,  who  for  ten  years  in  Ni 
geria  had  escaped  fever  and  sudden  death,  laughed 
evasively. 

"I  have  never  been  in  the  Congo,"  he  said. 
"Only  know  what  they  tell  one.  But  you'll  see 
for  yourself.  That  is,"  he  added,  "you'll  see 
what  they  want  you  to  see." 

They  were  leaning  on  the  rail,  with  their  eyes 
turned  toward  the  coast  of  Liberia,  a  gloomy  green 

6 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

line  against  which  the  waves  cast  up  fountains  of 
foam  as  high  as  the  cocoanut  palms.  As  a  sub 
ject  of  discussion,  the  coaster  seemed  anxious  to 
avoid  the  Congo. 

"It  was  there,"  he  said,  pointing,  "the  Three 
Castles  struck  on  the  rocks.  She  was  a  total  loss. 
So  were  her  passengers,"  he  added.  "They  ate 
them." 

Everett  gazed  suspiciously  at  the  unmoved  face 
of  the  veteran. 

"Who  ate  them?"  he  asked  guardedly. 
"Sharks?" 

"The  natives  that  live  back  of  that  shore-line  in 
the  lagoons." 

Everett  laughed  with  the  assurance  of  one  for 
whom  a  trap  had  been  laid  and  who  had  cleverly 
avoided  it. 

"Cannibals,"  he  mocked.  "Cannibals  went 
out  of  date  with  pirates.  But  perhaps,"  he  added 
apologetically,  "this  happened  some  years  ago  ?" 

"Happened  last  month,"  said  the  trader. 

"But  Liberia  is  a  perfectly  good  republic,"  pro 
tested  Everett.  "The  blacks  there  may  not  be  as 
far  advanced  as  in  your  colonies,  but  they're  not 
cannibals." 

"Monrovia  is  a  very  small  part  of  Liberia," 
said  the  trader  dryly.  "And  none  of  these  pro- 

7 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

tectorates,  or  crown  colonies,  on  this  coast  pre 
tends  to  control  much  of  the  Hinterland.  There 
is  Sierra  Leone,  for  instance,  about  the  oldest  of 
them.  Last  year  the  governor  celebrated  the  hun 
dredth  anniversary  of  the  year  the  British  abol 
ished  slavery.  They  had  parades  and  tea-fights, 
and  all  the  blacks  were  in  the  street  in  straw  hats 
with  cricket  ribbons,  thanking  God  they  were  not 
as  other  men  are,  not  slaves  like  their  grand 
fathers.  Well,  just  at  the  height  of  the  jubilation, 
the  tribes  within  twenty  miles  of  the  town  sent  in 
to  say  that  they,  also,  were  holding  a  palaver,  and 
it  was  to  mark  the  fact  that  they  never  had  been 
slaves  and  never  would  be,  and,  if  the  governor 
doubted  it,  to  send  out  his  fighting  men  and 
they'd  prove  it.  It  cast  quite  a  gloom  over  the 
celebration." 

"Do  you  mean  that  only  twenty  miles  from  the 
coast — "  began  Everett. 

"Ten  miles,"  said  the  Coaster^  "Wait  till  you 
see  Calabar.  That's  our  Exhibit  A.  The  clean 
est,  best  administered.  Everything  there  is  model: 
hospitals,  barracks,  golf  links.  Last  year,  ten 
miles  from  Calabar,  Dr.  Stewart  rode  his  bicycle 
into  a  native  village.  The  king  tortured  him  six 
days,  cut  him  up,  and  sent  pieces  of  him  to  fifty 
villages  with  the  message:  'You  eat  each  other. 

8 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

We  eat  white  chop.'  That  was  ten  miles  from 
our  model  barracks." 

For  some  moments  the  muckraker  considered 
the  statement  thoughtfully. 

"You  mean,"  he  inquired,  "that  the  atrocities 
are  not  all  on  the  side  of  the  white  men  ?" 

"Atrocities  ?"  exclaimed  the  trader.  "I  wasn't 
talking  of  atrocities.  Are  you  looking  for  them  ?" 

"I'm  not  running  away  from  them,"  laughed 
Everett.  "Lowell's  Weekly  is  sending  me  to  the 
Congo  to  find  out  the  truth,  and  to  try  to  help  put 
an  end  to  them." 

In  his  turn  the  trader  considered  the  statement 
carefully. 

"Among  the  natives,"  he  explained,  painstak 
ingly  picking  each  word,  "what  you  call  'atroci 
ties'  are  customs  of  warfare,  forms  of  punishment. 
When  they  go  to  war  they  expect  to  be  tortured; 
they  know,  if  they're  killed,  they'll  be  eaten.  The 
white  man  comes  here  and  finds  these  customs 
have  existed  for  centuries.  He  adopts  them,  be 


cause " 


"One  moment!"  interrupted  Everett  warmly. 
"That  does  not  excuse  him.  The  point  is,  that 
with  him  they  have  not  existed.  To  him  they 
should  be  against  his  conscience,  indecent,  horri 
ble!  He  has  a  greater  knowledge,  a  much  higher 

9 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

intelligence;  he  should  lift  the  native,  not  sink  to 
him." 

The  Coaster  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and 
twice  opened  his  lips  to  speak.  Finally,  he  blew 
the  smoke  into  the  air,  and  shook  his  head. 

"What's  the  use!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Try,"  laughed  Everett.  "Maybe  I'm  not  as 
unintelligent  as  I  talk." 

"  You  must  get  this  right,"  protested  the  Coaster. 
"It  doesn't  matter  a  damn  what  a  man  brings 
here,  what  his  training  was,  what  he  is.  The 
/thing  is  too  strong  for  him." 

"What  thing?" 

"That!"  said  the  Coaster.  He  threw  out  his 
arm  at  the  brooding  mountains,  the  dark  lagoons, 
the  glaring  coast-line  against  which  the  waves 
shot  into  the  air  with  the  shock  and  roar  of  twelve- 
inch  guns.  * 

"The  first  white  man  came  to  Sierra  Leone  five 
hundred  years  before  Christ,"  said  the  Coaster. 
"And,  in  twenty-two  hundred  years,  he's  got  just 
twenty  miles  inland.  The  native  didn't  need 
forts,  or  a  navy,  to  stop  him.  He  had  three  allies: 
those  waves,  the  fever,  and  the  sun.  Especially 
the  sun.  The  black  man  goes  bare-headed,  and 
the  sun  lets  him  pass.  The  white  man  covers 
his  head  with  an  inch  of  cork,  and  the  sun  strikes 

10 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

through  it  and  kills  him.  When  Jameson  came 
down  the  river  from  Yambuya,  the  natives  fired 
on  his  boat.  He  waved  his  helmet  at  them  for 
three  minutes,  to  show  them  there  was  a  white 
man  in  the  canoe.  Three  minutes  was  all  the  sun 
wanted.  Jameson  died  in  two  days.  v  Where  you 
are  going,  the  sun  does  worse  things  to  a  man  than 
kill  him:  it  drives  him  mad.  It  keeps  the  fear  of 
death  in  his  heart;  and  that  takes  away  his  nerve 
and  his  sense  of  proportion.  He  flies  into  mur 
derous  fits,  over  silly,  imaginary  slights;  he  grows 
morbid,  suspicious,  hex  becomes  a  coward,  and 
because  he  is  a  coward  with  authority,  he  becomes 
a  bully. 

"He  is  alone,  we  will  suppose,  at  a  station  three 
hundred  miles  from  any  other  white  man.  One 
morning  his  house-boy  spills  a  cup  of  coffee  on 
him,  and  in  a  rage  he  half  kills  the  boy.  He  broods 
over  that,  until  he  discovers,  or  his  crazy  mind 
makes  him  think  he  has  discovered,  that  in  revenge 
the  boy  is  plotting  to  poison  him.  So  he  punishes 
him  again.  Only  this  time  he  punishes  him  as 
the  black  man  has  taught  him  to  punish,  in  the 
only  way  the  black  man  seems  to  understand; 
that  is,  he  tortures  him.  From  that  moment  the 
fall  of  that  man  is  rapid.  The  heat,  the  loneli 
ness,  the  fever,  the  fear  of  the  black  faces,  keep 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

him  on  edge,  rob  him  of  sleep,  rob  him  of  his 
physical  strength,  of  his  moral  strength.  He  loses 
shame,  loses  reason;  becomes  cruel,  weak,  degen 
erate.  He  invents  new,  bestial  tortures;  commits 
new,  unspeakable  'atrocities/  until,  one  day,  the 
natives  turn  and  kill  him,  or  he  sticks  his  gun  in 
his  mouth  and  blows  the  top  of  his  head  off." 

The  Coaster  smiled  tolerantly  at  the  wide-eyed 
eager  young  man  at  his  side. 

"And  you,"  he  mocked,  "think  you  can  reform 
that  man,  and  that  hell  above  ground  called  the 
Congo,  with  an  article  in  Lowell's  Weekly?" 

Undismayed,  Everett  grinned  cheerfully. 

"That's  what  I'm  here  for!"  he  said. 

By  the  time  Everett  reached  the  mouth  of  the 
Congo,  he  had  learned  that  in  everything  he  must 
depend  upon  himself;  that  he  would  be  accepted 
only  as  the  kind  of  man  that,  at  the  moment,  he 
showed  himself  to  be.  This  attitude  of  indepen 
dence  was  not  chosen,  but  forced  on  him  by  the 
men  with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  Associations 
and  traditions,  that  in  every  part  of  the  United 
States  had  served  as  letters  of  introduction,  and 
enabled  strangers  to  identify  and  label  him,  were 
to  the  white  men  on  the  steamer  and  at  the  ports 
of  call  without  meaning  or  value.  That  he  was  an 
Everett  of  Boston  conveyed  little  to  those  who  had 

12 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

not  heard  even  of  Boston.  That  he  was  the  cor 
respondent  of  Lowell's  Weekly  meant  less  to  those 
who  did  not  know  that  Lowell's  Weekly  existed. 
And  when,  in  confusion,  he  proffered  his  letter  of 
credit,  the  very  fact  that  it  called  for  a  thousand 
pounds  was,  in  the  eyes  of  a  "Palm  Oil  Ruffian," 
sufficient  evidence  that  it  had  been  forged  or  stolen. 
He  soon  saw  that  solely  as  a  white  man  was  he 
accepted  and  made  welcome.  That  he  was  re 
spectable,  few  believed,  and  no  one  cared.  To 
be  taken  at  his  face  value,  to  be  refused  at  the 
start  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  was  a  novel  sensa 
tion;  and  yet  not  unpleasant.  It  was  a  relief  not 
to  be  accepted  only  as  Everett  the  Muckraker,  as 
a  professional  reformer,  as  one  holier  than  others. 
It  afforded  his  soul  the  same  relaxation  that  his 
body  received  when,  in  his  shirt-sleeves  in  the 
sweltering  smoking-room,  he  drank  beer  with  a 
chef  de  poste  who  had  been  thrice  tried  for  murder. 
Not  only  to  every  one  was  he  a  stranger,  but  to 
him  everything  was  strange;  so  strange  as  to  ap 
pear  unreal.  This  did  not  prevent  him  from  at 
once  recognizing  those  things  that  were  not  strange, 
such  as  corrupt  officials,  incompetence,  misman 
agement.  He  did  not  need  the  missionaries  to 
point  out  to  him  that  the  Independent  State  of  the 
Congo  was  not  a  colony  administered  for  the  bene- 

13 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

fit  of  many,  but  a  vast  rubber  plantation  worked 
by  slaves  to  fill  the  pockets  of  one  man.  It  was 
not  in  his  work  that  Everett  found  himself  con 
fused.  It  was  in  his  attitude  of  mind  toward 
almost  every  other  question.  ' 

At  first,  when  he  could  not  make  everything  fit 
his  rule  of  thumb,  he  excused  the  country  toler 
antly  as  a  "topsy-turvy"  land.  He  wished  to  move 
and  act  quickly;  to  make  others  move  quickly. 
He  did  not  understand  that  men  who  had  sen 
tenced  themselves  to  exile  for  the  official  term  of 
three  years,  or  for  life,  measured  time  only  by  the 
date  of  their  release.  When  he  learned  that  even 
a  cablegram  could  not  reach  his  home  in  less  than 
eighteen  days,  that  the  missionaries  to  whom  he 
brought  letters  were  a  three  months'  journey  from 
the  coast  and  from  each  other,  his  impatience  was 
chastened  to  wonder,  and,  later,  to  awe. 

His  education  began  at  Matadi,  where  he  waited 
until  the  river  steamer  was  ready  to  start  for  Leo- 
poldville.  Of  the  two  places  he  was  assured  Ma 
tadi  was  the  better,  for  the  reason  that  if  you  still 
were  in  favor  with  the  steward  of  the  ship  that 
brought  you  south,  he  might  sell  you  a  piece  of  ice. 

Matadi  was  a  great  rock,  blazing  with  heat. 
Its  narrow,  perpendicular  paths  seemed  to  run 
with  burning  lava.  Its  top,  the  main  square  of 

14 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

the  settlement,  was  of  baked  clay,  beaten  hard  by 
thousands  of  naked  feet.  Crossing  it  by  day  was 
an  adventure.  The  air  that  swept  it  was  the 
breath  of  a  blast-furnace. 

Everett  found  a  room  over  the  shop  of  a  Portu 
guese  trader.  It  was  caked  with  dirt,  and  smelled 
of  unnamed  diseases  and  chloride  of  lime.  In  it 
was  a  canvas  cot,  a  roll  of  evil-looking  bedding,  a 
wash-basin  rilled  with  the  stumps  of  cigarettes. 
In  a  corner  was  a  tin  chop-box,  which  Everett 
asked  to  have  removed.  It  belonged,  the  land 
lord  told  him,  to  the  man  who,  two  nights  before, 
had  occupied  the  cot  and  who  had  died  in  it. 
Everett  was  anxious  to  learn  of  what  he  had  died. 
Apparently  surprised  at  the  question,  the  Portu 
guese  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Who  knows  ?"  he  exclaimed.  The  next  morn 
ing  the  English  trader  across  the  street  assured 
Everett  there  was  no  occasion  for  alarm.  "He 
didn't  die  of  any  disease,"  he  explained.  "Some 
body  got  at  him  from  the  balcony,  while  he  was 
in  his  cot,  and  knifed  him." 

The  English  trader  was  a  young  man,  a  cockney, 
named  Upsher.  At  home  he  had  been  a  steward 
on  the  Channel  steamers.  Everett  made  him  his 
most  intimate  friend.  He  had  a  black  wife,  who 
spent  most  of  her  day  in  a  four-post  bed,  hung  with 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

lace  curtains  and  blue  ribbon,  in  which  she  resem 
bled  a  baby  hippopotamus  wallowing  in  a  bank  of 
white  sand. 

At  first  the  black  woman  was  a  shock  to  Everett, 
but  after  Upsher  dismissed  her  indifferently  as  a 
"good  old  sort,"  and  spent  one  evening  blubber 
ing  over  a  photograph  of  his  wife  and  "kiddie" 
at  home,  Everett  accepted  her.  His  excuse  for 
this  was  that  men  who  knew  they  might  die  on 
the  morrow  must  not  be  judged  by  what  they  do 
to-day.  The  excuse  did  not  ring  sound,  but  he 
dismissed  the  doubt  by  deciding  that  in  such  heat 
it  was  not  possible  to  take  serious  questions  seri 
ously.  In  the  fact  that,  to  those  about  him,  the 
thought  of  death  was  ever  present,  he  found  fur 
ther  excuse  for  much  else  that  puzzled  and  shocked 
him.  At  home,  death  had  been  a  contingency  so 
remote  that  he  had  put  it  aside  as  something  he 
need  not  consider  until  he  was  a  grandfather.  At 
Matadi,  at  every  moment  of  the  day,  in  each  tri 
fling  act,  he  found  death  must  be  faced,  conciliated, 
conquered.  At  home  he  might  ask  himself,  "If  I 
eat  this  will  it  give  me  indigestion  ?"  At  Matadi 
he  asked,  "If  I  drink  this  will  I  die  ?" 

Upsher  told  him  of  a  feud  then  existing  between 
the  chief  of  police  and  an  Italian  doctor  in  the 
State  service.  Interested  in  the  outcome  only  as 

16 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

a  sporting  proposition,  Upsher  declared  the  odds 
were  unfair,  because  the  Belgian  was  using  his 
black  police  to  act  as  his  body-guard  while  for 
protection  the  Italian  could  depend  only  upon  his 
sword-cane.  Each  night,  with  the  other  white 
exiles  of  Matadi,  the  two  adversaries  met  in  the 
Cafe  Franco-Beige.  There,  with  puzzled  interest, 
Everett  watched  them  sitting  at  separate  tables, 
surrounded  by  mutual  friends,  excitedly  playing 
dominoes.  Outside  the  cafe,  Matadi  lay  smoth 
ered  and  sweltering  in  a  black,  living  darkness, 
and,  save  for  the  rush  of  the  river,  in  a  silence  that 
continued  unbroken  across  a  jungle  as  wide  as 
Europe.  Inside  the  dominoes  clicked,  the  glasses 
rang  on  the  iron  tables,  the  oil  lamps  glared  upon 
the  pallid,  sweating  faces  of  clerks,  upon  the  tan 
ned,  sweating  skins  of  officers;  and  the  Italian 
doctor  and  the  Belgian  lieutenant,  each  with  mur 
der  in  his  heart,  laughed,  shrugged,  gesticulated, 
waiting  for  the  moment  to  strike. 

"But  why  doesn't  some  one  do  something?" 
demanded  Everett.  "Arrest  them,  or  reason  with 
them.  Everybody  knows  about  it.  It  seems  a 
pity  not  to  do  something." 

Upsher  nodded  his  head.  Dimly  he  recognized 
a  language  with  which  he  once  had  been  familiar. 
"I  know  what  you  mean,"  he  agreed.  "Bind  'em 

17 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

over  to  keep  the  peace.  And  a  good  job,  too! 
But  who  ?"  he  demanded  vaguely.  "That's  what 
I  say!  Who?"  From  the  confusion  into  which 
Everett's  appeal  to  forgotten  memories  had  thrown 
it,  his  mind  suddenly  emerged.  "But  what's  the 
use!"  he  demanded.  "Don't  you  see,"  he  ex 
plained  triumphantly,  "if  those  two  crazy  men 
were  fit  to  listen  to  sense,  they'd  have  sense  enough 
not  to  kill  each  other!" 

Each  succeeding  evening  Everett  watched  the 
two  potential  murderers  with  lessening  interest. 
He  even  made  a  bet  with  Upsher,  of  a  bottle  of 
fruit  salt,  that  the  chief  of  police  would  be  the  one 
to  die. 

A  few  nights  later  a  man,  groaning  beneath  his 
balcony,  disturbed  his  slumbers.  He  cursed  the 
man,  and  turned  his  pillow  to  find  the  cooler  side. 
But  all  through  the  night  the  groans,  though 
fainter,  broke  into  his  dreams.  At  intervals  some 
traditions  of ,  past  conduct  tugged  at  Everett's 
sleeve,  and  bade  him  rise  and  play  the  good  Samar 
itan.  But,  indignantly,  he  repulsed  them.  Were 
there  not  many  others  within  hearing  ?  Were  there 
not  the  police  ?  Was  it  his  place  to  bind  the 
wounds  of  drunken  stokers  ?  The  groans  were 
probably  a  trick,  to  entice  him,  unarmed,  into 
the  night.  And  so,  just  before  the  dawn,  when 

18 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

the  mists  rose,  and  the  groans  ceased,  Everett,  still 
arguing,  sank  with  a  contented  sigh  into  forget- 
fulness. 

When  he  woke,  there  was  beneath  his  window 
much  monkey -like  chattering,  and  he  looked 
down  into  the  white  face  and  glazed  eyes  of  the 
Italian  doctor,  lying  in  the  gutter  and  staring  up 
at  him.  Below  his  shoulder-blades  a  pool  of 
blood  shone  evilly  in  the  blatant  sunlight. 

Across  the  street,  on  his  balcony,  Upsher,  in 
pajamas  and  mosquito  boots,  was  shivering  with 
fever  and  stifling  a  yawn.  "You  lose!"  he 
called. 

Later  in  the  day,  Everett  analyzed  his  conduct 
of  the  night  previous.  "At  home,"  he  told  Up 
sher,  "I  would  have  been  telephoning  for  an  am 
bulance,  or  been  out  in  the  street  giving  the  man 
the  'first-aid'  drill.  But  living  as  we  do  here,  so 
close  to  death,  we  see  things  more  clearly.  Death 
loses  its  importance.  It's  a  bromide,"  he  added. 
"But  travel  certainly  broadens  one.  Every  day 
I  have  been  in  the  Congo,  I  have  been  assimilating 
new  ideas/'  Upsher  nodded  vigorously  in  assent. 
An  older  man  could  have  told  Everett  that  he  was 
assimilating  just  as  much  of  the  Congo  as  the 
rabbit  assimilates  of  the  boa-constrictor,  that  first 
smothers  it  with  saliva  and  then  swallows  it. 

19 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

Everett  started  up  the  Congo  in  a  small  steamer 
open  on  all  sides  to  the  sun  and  rain,  and  with  a 
paddle-wheel  astern  that  kicked  her  forward  at 
the  rate  of  four  miles  an  hour.  Once  every  day, 
the  boat  tied  up  to  a  tree  and  took  on  wood  to 
feed  her  furnace,  and  Everett  talked  to  the  white 
man  in  charge  of  the  wood  post,  or,  if,  as  it  gen 
erally  happened,  the  white  man  was  on  his  back 
with  fever,  dosed  him  with  quinine.  On  board, 
except  for  her  captain,  and  a  Finn  who  acted  as 
engineer,  Everett  was  the  only  other  white  man. 
The  black  crew  and  "wood-boys"  he  soon  dis 
liked  intensely.  At  first,  when  Nansen,  the  Dan 
ish  captain,  and  the  Finn  struck  them,  because 
they  were  in  the  way,  or  because  they  were  not, 
Everett  winced,  and  made  a  note  of  it.  But  later 
he  decided  the  blacks  were  insolent,  sullen,  un 
grateful;  that  a  blow  did  them  no  harm. 

According  to  the  unprejudiced  testimony  of 
those  who,  before  the  war,  in  his  own  country,  had 
owned  slaves,  those  of  the  "Southland"  were  al 
ways  content,  always  happy.  When  not  singing 
close  harmony  in  the  cotton-fields,  they  danced 
upon  the  levee,  they  twanged  the  old  banjo.  But 
these  slaves  of  the  Upper  Congo  were  not  happy. 
They  did  not  dance.  They  did  not  sing.  At 
times  their  eyes,  dull,  gloomy,  despairing,  lighted 

20 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

with  a  sudden  sombre  fire,  and  searched  the  eyes 
of  the  white  man.  They  seemed  to  beg  of  him  the 
answer  to  a  terrible  question.  It  was  always  the 
same  question.  It  had  been  asked  of  Pharaoh. 
They  asked  it  of  Leopold.  For  hours,  squatting 
on  the  iron  deck-plates,  humped  on  their  naked 
haunches,  crowding  close  together,  they  muttered 
apparently  interminable  criticisms  of  Everett. 
Their  eyes  never  left  him.  He  resented  this  un 
ceasing  scrutiny.  It  got  upon  his  nerves.  He  was 
sure  they  were  evolving  some  scheme  to  rob  him 
of  his  tinned  sausages,  or,  possibly,  to  kill  him.  It 
was  then  he  began  to  dislike  them.  In  reality, 
they  were  discussing  the  watch  strapped  to  his 
wrist.  They  believed  it  was  a  powerful  juju,  to 
ward  off  evil  spirits.  They  were  afraid  of  it. 

One  day,  to  pay  the  chief  wood-boy  for  a  carved 
paddle,  Everett  was  measuring  a  bras  of  cloth.  As 
he  had  been  taught,  he  held  the  cloth  in  his  teeth 
and  stretched  it  to  the  ends  of  his  finger-tips.  The 
wood-boy  thought  the  white  man  was  giving  him 
short  measure.  White  men  always  had  given  him 
short  measure,  and,  at  a  glance,  he  could  not  rec 
ognize  that  this  one  was  an  Everett  of  Boston. 

So  he  opened  Everett's  fingers. 

All  the  blood  in  Everett's  body  leaped  to  his 
head.  That  he,  a  white  man,  an  Everett,  who 

21 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

had  come  so  far  to  set  these  people  free,  should  be 
accused  by  one  of  them  of  petty  theft! 

He  caught  up  a  log  of  fire  wood  and  laid  open 
the  scalp  of  the  black  boy,  from  the  eye  to  the 
crown  of  his  head.  The  boy  dropped,  and  Ev 
erett,  seeing  the  blood  creeping  through  his  kinky 
wool,  turned  ill  with  nausea.  Drunkenly,  through 
a  red  cloud  of  mist,  he  heard  himself  shouting, 
1 '  The  black  nigger.!  The  black  nigger!  Retouched 
me!  I  tell  you,  he  touched  me!"  Captain  Nansen 
led  Everett  to  his  cot  and  gave  him  fizzy  salts, 
but  it  was  not  until  sundown  that  the  trembling 
and  nausea  ceased. 

Then,  partly  in  shame,  partly  as  a  bribe,  he 
sought  out  the  injured  boy  and  gave  him  the  entire 
roll  of  cloth.  It  had  cost  Everett  ten  francs.  To 
the  wood-boy  it  meant  a  year's  wages.  The  boy 
hugged  it  in  his  arms,  as  he  might  a  baby,  and 
crooned  over  it.  From  under  the  blood-stained 
bandage,  humbly,  without  resentment,  he  lifted 
his  tired  eyes  to  those  of  the  white  man.  Still, 
dumbly,  they  begged  the  answer  to  the  same 
question. 

During  the  five  months  Everett  spent  up  the 
river  he  stopped  at  many  missions,  stations,  one- 
man  wood  posts.  He  talked  to  Jesuit  fathers,  to 
inspecteurs,  to  collectors  for  the  State  of  rubber, 

22 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

taxes,  elephant  tusks,  in  time,  even  in  Bangalese, 
to  chiefs  of  the  native  villages.  According  to  the 
point  of  view,  he  was  told  tales  of  oppression,  of 
avarice,  of  hideous  crimes,  of  cruelties  committed 
in  the  name  of  trade  that  were  abnormal,  unthink 
able.  The  note  never  was  of  hope,  never  of  cheer, 
never  inspiring.  There  was  always  the  grievance, 
the  spirit  of  unrest,  of  rebellion  that  ranged  from 
dislike  to  a  primitive,  hot  hate.  Of  his  own  land 
and  life  he  heard  nothing,  not  even  when  his  face 
was  again  turned  toward  the  east.  Nor  did  he 
think  of  it.  As  now  he  saw  them,  the  rules  and 
principles  and  standards  of  his  former  existence 
were  petty  and  credulous.  But  he  assured  him 
self  he  had  not  abandoned  those  standards.  He 
had  only  temporarily  laid  them  aside,  as  he  had 
left  behind  him  in  London  his  frock-coat  and  silk 
hat.  Not  because  he  would  not  use  them  again, 
but  because  in  the  Congo  they  were  ridiculous. 

For  weeks,  with  a  missionary  as  a  guide,  he  walked 
through  forests  into  which  the  sun  never  penetrated, 
or,  on  the  river,  moved  between  banks  where  no 
white  man  had  placed  his  foot;  where,  at  night, 
the  elephants  came  trooping  to  the  water,  and, 
seeing  the  lights  of  the  boat,  fled  crashing  through 
the  jungle;  where  the  great  hippos,  puffing  and 
blowing,  rose  so  close  to  his  elbow  that  he  could 

23 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

have  tossed  his  cigarette  and  hit  them.  The  vast- 
ness  of  the  Congo,  toward  which  he  had  so  jaun 
tily  set  forth,  now  weighed  upon  his  soul.  The 
immeasurable  distances;  the  slumbering  disre 
gard  of  time;  the  brooding,  interminable  silences; 
the  efforts  to  conquer  the  land  that  were  so  futile, 
so  puny,  and  so  cruel,  at  first  appalled  and,  later, 
left  him  unnerved,  rebellious,  childishly  defiant. 

What  health  was  there,  he  demanded  hotly,  in 
holding  in  a  dripping  jungle  to  morals,  to  etiquette, 
to  fashions  of  conduct  ?  Was  he,  the  white  man, 
intelligent,  trained,  disciplined  in  mind  and  body, 
to  be  judged  by  naked  cannibals,  by  chattering 
monkeys,  by  mammoth  primeval  beasts  ?  His 
code  of  conduct  was  his  own.  He  was  a  law  unto 
himself. 

He  came  down  the  river  on  one  of  the  larger 
steamers  of  the  State,  and,  on  this  voyage,  with 
many  fellow-passengers.  He  was  now  on  his  way 
home,  but  in  the  fact  he  felt  no  elation.  Each 
day  the  fever  ran  tingling  through  his  veins,  and 
left  him  listless,  frightened,  or  choleric.  One 
night  at  dinner,  in  one  of  these  moods  of  irritation, 
he  took  offence  at  the  act  of  a  lieutenant  who,  in 
lack  of  vegetables,  drank  from  the  vinegar  bottle. 
Everett  protested  that  such  table  manners  were 
unbecoming  an  officer,  even  an  officer  of  the 

24 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

Congo;  and  on  the  lieutenant  resenting  his  criti 
cism,  Everett  drew  his  revolver.  The  others  at 
the  table  took  it  from  him,  and  locked  him  in  his 
cabin.  In  the  morning,  when  he  tried  to  recall 
what  had  occurred,  he  could  remember  only  that, 
for  some  excellent  reason,  he  had  hated  some  one 
with  a  hatred  that  could  be  served  only  with  death. 
He  knew  it  could  not  have  been  drink,  as  each  day 
the  State  allowed  him  but  one  half-bottle  of  claret. 
That  but  for  the  interference  of  strangers  he  might 
have  shot  a  man,  did  not  interest  him.  In  the  out 
come  of  what  he  regarded  merely  as  an  incident, 
he  saw  cause  neither  for  congratulation  or  self- 
reproach.  For  his  conduct  he  laid  the  blame 
upon  the  sun,  and  doubled  his  dose  of  fruit 
salts. 

Everett  was  again  at  Matadi,  waiting  for  the 
Nigeria  to  take  on  cargo  before  returning  to  Liv 
erpool.  During  the  few  days  that  must  intervene 
before  she  sailed,  he  lived  on  board.  Although 
now  actually  bound  north,  the  thought  afforded 
him  no  satisfaction.  His  spirits  were  depressed, 
his  mind  gloomy;  a  feeling  of  rebellion,  of  out 
lawry,  filled  him  with  unrest. 

While  the  ship  lay  at  the  wharf,  Hardy,  her 
English  captain,  Cuthbert,  the  purser,  and  Everett 
ate  on  deck  under  the  awnin  ;,  assailed  by  electric 

25 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

fans.  Each  was  clad  in  nothing  more  intricate 
than  pajamas. 

"To-night,"  announced  Hardy,  with  a  sigh,  "we 
got  to  dress  ship.  Mr.  Ducret  and  his  wife  are 
coming  on  board.  We  carry  his  trade  goods,  and 
I  got  to  stand  him  a  dinner  and  champagne.  You 
boys,"  he  commanded,  "must  wear  'whites/  and 
talk  French." 

"  I'll  dine  on  shore,"  growled  Everett. 

"Better  meet  them,"  advised  Cuthbert.  The 
purser  was  a  pink-cheeked,  clear-eyed  young  man, 
who  spoke  the  many  languages  of  the  coast  glibly, 
and  his  own  in  the  soft,  detached  voice  of  a  well- 
bred  Englishman.  He  was  in  training  to  enter 
the  consular  service.  Something  in  his  poise,  in 
the  assured  manner  in  which  he  handled  his  white 
stewards  and  the  black  Kroo  boys,  seemed  to 
Everett  a  constant  reproach,  and  he  resented  him. 

"They're  a  picturesque  couple,"  explained  Cuth 
bert.  "Ducret  was  originally  a  wrestler.  Used  to 
challenge  all  comers  from  the  front  of  a  booth. 
He  served  his  time  in  the  army  in  Senegal, 
and  when  he  was  mustered  out  moved  to  the 
French  Congo  and  began  to  trade,  in  a  small  way, 
in  ivory.  Now  he's  the  biggest  merchant,  physi 
cally  and  every  other  way,  from  Stanley  Pool  to 
Lake  Chad.  He  ha ;  a  house  at  Brazzaville  built 

26 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

of  mahogany,  and  a  grand  piano,  and  his  own  ice- 
plant.  His  wife  was  a  supper-girl  at  Maxim's. 
He  brought  her  down  here  and  married  her. 
Every  rainy  season  they  go  back  to  Paris  and  run 
race-horses,  and  they  say  the  best  table  in  every 
all-night  restaurant  is  reserved  for  him.  In  Paris 
they  call  her  the  Ivory  Queen.  She's  killed  seven 
teen  elephants  with  her  own  rifle." 

In  the  Upper  Congo,  Everett  had  seen  four 
white  women.  They  were  pallid,  washed-out, 
bloodless;  even  the  youngest  looked  past  middle- 
age.  For  him  women  of  any  other  type  had  ceased 
to  exist.  He  had  come  to  think  of  every  white 
woman  as  past  middle-age,  with  a  face  wrinkled 
by  the  sun,  with  hair  bleached  white  by  the  sun, 
with  eyes  from  which,  through  gazing  at  the  sun, 
all  light  and  lustre  had  departed.  He  thought  of 
them  as  always  wearing  boots  to  protect  their 
ankles  from  mosquitoes,  and  army  helmets. 

When  he  came  on  deck  for  dinner,  he  saw  a 
woman  who  looked  as  though  she  was  posing  for 
a  photograph  by  Reutlinger.  She  appeared  to 
have  stepped  to  the  deck  directly  from  her  electric 
victoria,  and  the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  She  was  tall, 
lithe,  gracefully  erect,  with  eyes  of  great  loveliness, 
and  her  hair  brilliantly  black,  drawn,  a  la  Merode, 
across  a  broad,  fair  forehead.  She  wore  a  gown 

27 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

and  long  coat  of  white  lace,  as  delicate  as  a  bridal 
veil,  and  a  hat  with  a  flapping  brim  from  which, 
in  a  curtain,  hung  more  lace.  When  she  was 
pleased,  she  lifted  her  head  and  the  curtain  rose, 
unmasking  her  lovely  eyes.  Around  the  white, 
bare  throat  was  a  string  of  pearls.  They  had  cost 
the  lives  of  many  elephants. 

Cuthbert,  only  a  month  from  home,  saw 
Madame  Ducret  just  as  she  was — a  Parisienne, 
elegant,  smart,  soigne.  He  knew  that  on  any 
night  at  Madrid  or  d'Armenonville  he  might  look 
upon  twenty  women  of  the  same  charming  type. 
They  might  lack  that  something  this  girl  from 
Maxim's  possessed — the  spirit  that  had  caused  her 
to  follow  her  husband  into  the  depths  of  darkness. 
But  outwardly,  for  show  purposes,  they  were  even 
as  she. 

But  to  Everett  she  was  no  messenger  from 
another  world.  She  was  unique.  To  his  fam 
ished  eyes,  starved  senses,  and  fever-driven  brain, 
she  was  her  entire  sex  personified.  She  was  the 
one  woman  for  whom  he  had  always  sought,  allur 
ing,  soothing,  maddening;  if  need  be,  to  be  fought 
for;  the  one  thing  to  be  desired.  Opposite,  across 
the  table,  her  husband,  the  ex-wrestler,  chasseur 
cTAfrique,  elephant  poacher,  bulked  large  as  an 
ox.  Men  felt  as  well  as  saw  his  bigness.  Cap- 

28 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

tain  Hardy  deferred  to  him  on  matters  of  trade. 
The  purser  deferred  to  him  on  questions  of  ad 
ministration.  He  answered  them  in  his  big  way, 
with  big  thoughts,  in  big  figures.  He  was  fifty 
years  ahead  of  his  time.  He  beheld  the  Congo 
open  to  the  world;  in  the  forests  where  he  had 
hunted  elephants  he  foresaw  great  "factories," 
mining  camps,  railroads,  feeding  gold  and  copper 
ore  to  the  trunk  line,  from  the  Cape  to  Cairo.  His 
ideas  were  the  ideas  of  an  empire-builder.  But, 
while  the  others  listened,  fascinated,  hypnotized, 
Everett  saw  only  the  woman,  her  eyes  fixed  on  her 
husband,  her  fingers  turning  and  twisting  her 
diamond  rings.  Every  now  and  again  she  raised 
her  eyes  to  Everett  almost  reproachfully,  as  though 
to  say,  "Why  do  you  not  listen  to  him  ?  It  is 
much  better  for  you  than  to  look  at  me." 

When  they  had  gone,  all  through  the  sultry 
night,  until  the  sun  drove  him  to  his  cabin,  like  a 
caged  animal  Everett  paced  and  repaced  the  deck. 
The  woman  possessed  his  mind  and  he  could  not 
drive  her  out.  He  did  not  wish  to  drive  her  out. 
What  the  consequences  might  be  he  did  not  care. 
So  long  as  he  might  see  her  again,  he  jeered  at  the 
consequences.  Of  one  thing  he  was  positive.  He 
could  not  now  leave  the  Congo.  He  would  follow 
her  to  Brazzaville.  If  he  were  discreet,  Ducret 

29 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

might  invite  him  to  make  himself  their  guest. 
Once  established  in  her  home,  she  must  listen  to 
him.  No  man  ever  before  had  felt  for  any  woman 
the  need  he  felt  for  her.  It  was  too  big  for  him  to 
conquer.  It  would  be  too  big  for  her  to  resist. 

In  the  morning  a  note  from  Ducret  invited 
Everett  and  Cuthbert  to  join  him  in  an  all-day 
excursion  to  the  water-fall  beyond  Matadi.  Ev 
erett  answered  the  note  in  person.  The  thought 
of  seeing  the  woman  calmed  and  steadied  him  like 
a  dose  of  morphine.  So  much  more  violent  than 
the  fever  in  his  veins  was  the  fever  in  his  brain 
that,  when  again  he  was  with  her,  he  laughed 
happily,  and  was  grandly  at  peace.  So  different 
was  he  from  the  man  they  had  met  the  night  be 
fore,  that  the  Frenchman  and  his  wife  glanced  at 
each  other  in  surprise  and  approval.  They  found 
him  witty,  eager,  a  most  charming  companion; 
and  when  he  announced  his  intention  of  visiting 
Brazzaville,  they  insisted  he  should  make  their 
home  his  own. 

His  admiration,  as  outwardly  it  appeared  to  be, 
for  Madame  Ducret,  was  evident  to  the  others, 
but  her  husband  accepted  it.  It  was  her  due. 
And,  on  the  Congo,  to  grudge  to  another  man  the 
sight  of  a  pretty  woman  was  as  cruel  as  to  with 
hold  the  few  grains  of  quinine  that  might  save 

30 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

his  reason.  But  before  the  day  passed,  Madame 
Ducret  was  aware  that  the  American  could  not  be 
lightly  dismissed  as  an  admirer.  The  fact  neither 
flattered  nor  offended.  For  her  it  was  no  novel  or 
disturbing  experience.  Other  men,  whipped  on 
by  loneliness,  by  fever,  by  primitive  savage  in 
stincts,  had  told  her  what  she  meant  to  them. 
She  did  not  hold  them  responsible.  Some,  worth 
curing,  she  had  nursed  through  the  illness.  Oth 
ers,  who  refused  to  be  cured,  she  had  turned  over, 
with  a  shrug,  to  her  husband.  This  one  was  more 
difficult.  Of  men  of  Everett's  traditions  and  edu 
cation  she  had  known  but  few;  but  she  recognized 
the  type.  This  young  man  was  no  failure  in  life, 
no  derelict,  no  outcast  flying  the  law,  or  a  scandal, 
to  hide  in  the  jungle.  He  was  what,  in  her  Maxim 
days,  she  had  laughed  at  as  an  aristocrat.  He 
knew  her  Paris  as  she  did  not  know  it:  its  history, 
its  art.  Even  her  language  he  spoke  more  cor 
rectly  than  her  husband  or  herself.  She  knew 
that  at  his  home  there  must  be  many  women  infi 
nitely  more  attractive,  more  suited  to  him,  than 
herself:  women  of  birth,  of  position;  young  girls 
and  great  ladies  of  the  other  world.  And  she 
knew,  also,  that,  in  his  present  state,  at  a  nod 
from  her  he  would  cast  these  behind  him  and 
carry  her  into  the  wilderness.  More  quickly  than 

31 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

she  anticipated,  Everett  proved  she  did  not  over 
rate  the  forces  that  compelled  him. 

The  excursion  to  the  rapids  was  followed  by  a 
second  dinner  on  board  the  Nigeria.  But  now, 
as  on  the  previous  night,  Everett  fell  into  sullen 
silence.  He  ate  nothing,  drank  continually,  and 
with  his  eyes  devoured  the  woman.  When  coffee 
had  been  served,  he  left  the  others  at  table,  and 
with  Madame  Ducret  slowly  paced  the  deck.  As 
they  passed  out  of  the  reach  of  the  lights,  he  drew 
her  to  the  rail,  and  stood  in  front  of  her. 

"I  am  not  quite  mad,"  he  said,  "but  you  have 
got  to  come  with  me." 

To  Everett  all  he  added  to  this  sounded  sane 
and  final.  He  told  her  that  this  was  one  of  those 
miracles  when  the  one  woman  and  the  one  man 
who  were  predestined  to  meet  had  met.  He  told 
her  he  had  wished  to  marry  a  girl  at  home,  but 
that  he  now  saw  that  the  desire  was  the  fancy  of  a 
school-boy.  He  told  her  he  was  rich,  and  offered 
her  the  choice  of  returning  to  the  Paris  she  loved, 
or  of  going  deeper  into  the  jungle.  There  he 
would  set  up  for  her  a  principality,  a  state  within 
the  State.  He  would  defend  her  against  all  comers. 
He  would  make  her  the  Queen  of  the  Congo. 

"I  have  waited  for  you  thousands  of  years!"  he 
told  her.  His  voice  was  hoarse,  shaken,  and 

32 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

thick.  "I  love  you  as  men  loved  women  in  the 
Stone  Age — fiercely,  entirely.  I  will  not  be  de 
nied.  Down  here  we  are  cave  people;  if  you 
fight  me,  I  will  club  you  and  drag  you  to  my  cave. 
If  others  fight  for  you,  I  will  kill  them.  I  love 
you,"  he  panted,  "with  all  my  soul,  my  mind,  my 
body,  I  love  you !  I  will  not  let  you  go ! " 

Madame  Ducret  did  not  say  she  was  insulted, 
because  she  did  not  feel  insulted.  She  did  not  call 
to  her  husband  for  help,  because  she  did  not  need 
his  help,  and  because  she  knew  that  the  ex-wrestler 
could  break  Everett  across  his  knee.  She  did  not 
even  withdraw  her  hands,  although  Everett  drove 
the  diamonds  deep  into  her  fingers. 

"You  frighten  me!"  she  pleaded.  She  was  not 
in  the  least  frightened.  She  only  was  sorry  that 
this  one  must  be  discarded  among  the  incurables. 

In  apparent  agitation,  she  whispered,  "To-mor 
row!  To-morrow  I  will  give  you  your  answer." 

Everett  did  not  trust  her,  did  not  release  her. 
He  regarded  her  jealously,  with  quick  suspicion. 
To  warn  her  that  he  knew  she  could  not  escape 
from  Matadi,  or  from  him,  he  said,  "The  train  to 
Leopoldville  does  not  leave  for  two  days!" 

"I  know!"  whispered  Madame  Ducret  sooth 
ingly.  "I  will  give  you  your  answer  to-morrow 
at  ten."  She  emphasized  the  hour,  because  she 

33 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

knew  at  sunrise  a  special  train  would  carry  her 
husband  and  herself  to  Leopoldville,  and  that 
there  one  of  her  husband's  steamers  would  bear 
them  across  the  Pool  to  French  Congo. 

" To-morrow,  then!"  whispered  Everett,  grudg 
ingly.  "But  I  must  kiss  you  now!" 

Only  an  instant  did  Madame  Ducret  hesitate. 
Then  she  turned  her  cheek.  "Yes,"  she  assented. 
"You  must  kiss  me  now." 

Everett  did  not  rejoin  the  others.  He  led  her 
back  into  the  circle  of  light,  and  locked  himself  in 
his  cabin. 

At  ten  the  next  morning,  when  Ducret  and  his 
wife  were  well  advanced  toward  Stanley  Pool, 
Cuthbert  handed  Everett  a  note.  Having  been 

o 

told  what  it  contained,  he  did  not  move  away, 
but,  with  his  back  turned,  leaned  upon  the  rail. 

Everett,  his  eyes  on  fire  with  triumph,  his  fingers 
trembling,  tore  open  the  envelope. 

Madame  Ducret  wrote  that  her  husband  and 
herself  felt  that  Mr.  Everett  was  suffering  more 
severely  from  the  climate  than  he  knew.  With 
regret  they  cancelled  their  invitation  to  visit  them, 
and  urged  him,  for  his  health's  sake,  to  continue 
as  he  had  planned,  to  northern  latitudes.  They 
hoped  to  meet  in  Paris.  They  extended  assur 
ances  of  their  distinguished  consideration. 

34 


A  Question  of  Latitude 

Slowly,  savagely,  as  though  wreaking  his  suf 
fering  on  some  human  thing,  Everett  tore  the  note 
into  minute  fragments.  Moving  unsteadily  to  the 
ship's  side,  he  flung  them  into  the  river,  and  then 
hung  limply  upon  the  rail. 

Above  him,  from  a  sky  of  brass,  the  sun  stabbed 
at  his  eyeballs.  Below  him,  the  rush  of  the  Congo, 
churning  in  muddy  whirlpools,  echoed  against  the 
hills  of  naked  rock  that  met  the  naked  sky. 

To  Everett,  the  roar  of  the  great  river,  and  the 
echoes  from  the  land  he  had  set  out  to  reform, 
carried  the  sound  of  gigantic,  hideous  laughter. 


35 


THE  SPY 


THE  SPY 

MY  going  to  Valencia  was  entirely  an  acci 
dent.  But  the  more  often  I  stated  that 
fact,  the  more  satisfied  was  everyone  at  the  capital 
that  I  had  come  on  some  secret  mission.  Even 
the  venerable  politician  who  acted  as  our  minis 
ter,  the  night  of  my  arrival,  after  dinner,  said  con 
fidentially,  "Now,  Mr.  Crosby,  between  ourselves, 
what's  the  game  ?" 

"What's  what  game?"    I  asked. 

" You  know  what  I  mean,"  he  returned.  "What 
are  you  here  for  ? " 

But  when,  for  the  tenth  time,  I  repeated  how  I 
came  to  be  marooned  in  Valencia  he  showed  that 
his  feelings  were  hurt,  and  said  stiffly:  "As  you 
please.  Suppose  we  join  the  ladies." 

And  the  next  day  his  wife  reproached  me  with: 
"I  should  think  you  could  trust  your  own  minister. 
My  husband  never  talks — not  even  to  me." 

"Sol  see,"  I  said. 

And  then  her  feelings  were  hurt  also,  and  she 
went  about  telling  people  I  was  an  agent  of  the 
Walker-Keefe  crowd. 

39 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

My  only  reason  for  repeating  here  that  my 
going  to  Valencia  was  an  accident  is  that  it  was 
because  Schnitzel  disbelieved  that  fact,  and  to 
drag  the  hideous  facts  from  me  followed  me 
back  to  New  York.  Through  that  circumstance 
I  came  to  know  him,  and  am  able  to  tell  his 
story. 

The  simple  truth  was  that  I  had  been  sent  by 
the  State  Department  to  Panama  to  "go,  look, 
see,"  and  straighten  out  a  certain  conflict  of  au 
thority  among  the  officials  of  the  canal  zone. 
While  I  was  there  the  yellow-fever  broke  out,  and 
every  self-respecting  power  clapped  a  quarantine 
on  the  Isthmus,  with  the  result  that  when  I  tried 
to  return  to  New  York  no  steamer  would  take  me 
to  any  place  to  which  any  white  man  would  care 
to  go.  But  I  knew  that  at  Valencia  there  was  a 
direct  line  to  New  York,  so  I  took  a  tramp  steamer 
down  the  coast  to  Valencia.  I  went  to  Valencia 
only  because  to  me  every  other  port  in  the  world 
was  closed.  My  position  was  that  of  the  man  who 
explained  to  his  wife  that  he  came  home  because 
the  other  places  were  shut. 

But,  because,  formerly  in  Valencia  I  had  held 
a  minor  post  in  our  legation,  and  because  the  State 
Department  so  constantly  consults  our  firm  on 
questions  of  international  law,  it  was  believed  I 

40 


The  Spy 

revisited  Valencia  on  some  mysterious  and  secret 
mission. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  had  I  gone  there  to  sell 
phonographs  or  to  start  a  steam  laundry,  I  should 
have  been  as  greatly  suspected.  For  in  Valencia 
even  every  commercial  salesman,  from  the  moment 
he  gives  up  his  passport  on  the  steamer  until  the 
police  permit  him  to  depart,  is  suspected,  shad 
owed,  and  begirt  with  spies. 

I  believe  that  during  my  brief  visit  I  enjoyed 
the  distinction  of  occupying  the  undivided  atten 
tion  of  three:  a  common  or  garden  Government 
spy,  from  whom  no  guilty  man  escapes,  a  Walker- 
Keefe  spy,  and  the  spy  of  the  Nitrate  Company. 
The  spy  of  the  Nitrate  Company  is  generally  a 
man  you  meet  at  the  legations  and  clubs.  He 
plays  bridge  and  is  dignified  with  the  title  of 
"  agent/'  The  Walker- Keefe  spy  is  ostensibly  a 
travelling  salesman  or  hotel  runner.  The  Gov 
ernment  spy  is  just  a  spy — a  scowling,  important 
little  beast  in  a  white  duck  suit  and  a  diamond 
ring.  The  limit  of  his  intelligence  is  to  follow 
you  into  a  cigar  store  and  note  what  cigar  you 
buy,  and  in  what  kind  of  money  you  pay  for  it. 

The  reason  for  it  all  was  the  three-cornered 
fight  which  then  was  being  waged  by  the  Govern 
ment,  the  Nitrate  Trust,  and  the  Walker-Keefe 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

crowd  for  the  possession  of  the  nitrate  beds.  Va 
lencia  is  so  near  to  the  equator,  and  so  far  from 
New  York,  that  there  are  few  who  studied  the  in 
tricate  story  of  that  disgraceful  struggle,  which,  I 
hasten  to  add,  with  the  fear  of  libel  before  my 
eyes,  I  do  not  intend  to  tell  now. 

Briefly,  it  was  a  triangular  fight  between  oppo 
nents  each  of  whom  was  in  the  wrong,  and  each  of 
whom,  to  gain  his  end,  bribed,  blackmailed,  and 
robbed,  not  only  his  adversaries,  but  those  of  his 
own  side,  the  end  in  view  being  the  possession  of 
those  great  deposits  that  lie  in  the  rocks  of  Va 
lencia,  baked  from  above  by  the  tropic  sun  and 
from  below  by  volcanic  fires.  As  one  of  their 
engineers,  one  night  in  the  Plaza,  said  to  me: 
"Those  mines  were  conceived  in  hell,  and  stink 
to  heaven,  and  the  reputation  of  every  man  of  us 
that  has  touched  them  smells  like  the  mines." 

At  the  time  I  was  there  the  situation  was  "acute." 
In  Valencia  the  situation  always  is  acute,  but  this 
time  it  looked  as  though  something  might  happen. 
On  the  day  before  I  departed  the  Nitrate  Trust 
had  cabled  vehemently  for  war-ships,  the  Min 
ister  of  Foreign  Affairs  had  refused  to  receive  our 
minister,  and  at  Porto  Banos  a  mob  had  made 
the  tin  sign  of  the  United  States  consulate  look 
like  a  sieve.  Our  minister  urged  me  to  remain. 

42 


The  Spy 

To  be  bombarded  by  one's  own  war-ships,  he 
assured  me,  would  be  a  thrilling  experience. 

But  I  repeated  that  my  business  was  with  Pana 
ma,  not  Valencia,  and  that  if  in  this  matter  of  his 
row  I  had  any  weight  at  Washington,  as  between 
preserving  the  nitrate  beds  for  the  trust,  and  pre 
serving  for  his  country  and  various  sweethearts 
one  brown-throated,  clean-limbed  bluejacket,  I  was 
for  the  bluejacket. 

Accordingly,  when  I  sailed  from  Valencia  the 
aged  diplomat  would  have  described  our  relations 
as  strained. 

Our  ship  was  a  slow  ship,  listed  to  touch  at 
many  ports,  and  as  early  as  noon  on  the  following 
day  we  stopped  for  cargo  at  Trujillo.  It  was 
there  I  met  Schnitzel. 

In  Panama  I  had  bought  a  macaw  for  a  little 
niece  of  mine,  and  while  we  were  taking  on  cargo 
I  went  ashore  to  get  a  tin  cage  in  which  to  put  it, 
and,  for  direction,  called  upon  our  consul.  From 
an  inner  room  he  entered  excitedly,  smiling  at  my 
card,  and  asked  how  he  might  serve  me.  I  told 
him  I  had  a  parrot  below  decks,  and  wanted  to 
buy  a  tin  cage. 

"Exactly.  You  want  a  tin  cage,"  the  consul 
repeated  soothingly.  "The  State  Department 
doesn't  keep  me  awake  nights  cabling  me  what 

43 


Once  Upon  a  Time 


it's  going  to  do,"  he  said,  "but  at  least  I  know  it 
doesn't  send  a  thousand-dollar-a-minute,  four- 
cylinder  lawyer  all  the  way  to  this  fever  swamp  to 
buy  a  tin  cage.  Now,  honest,  how  can  I  serve 
you?"  I  saw  it  was  hopeless.  No  one  would 
believe  the  truth.  To  offer  it  to  this  friendly  soul 
would  merely  offend  his  feelings  and  his  in 
telligence. 

So,  with  much  mystery,  I  asked  him  to  describe 
the  "situation,"  and  he  did  so  with  the  exact 
ness  of  one  who  believes  that  within  an  hour 
every  word  he  speaks  will  be  cabled  to  the  White 
House. 

When  I  was  leaving  he  said:  "Oh,  there's  a 
newspaper  correspondent  after  you.  He  wants 
an  interview,  I  guess.  He  followed  you  last  night 
from  the  capital  by  train.  You  want  to  watch 
out  he  don't  catch  you.  His  name  is  Jones."  I 
promised  to  be  on  my  guard  against  a  man  named 
Jones,  and  the  consul  escorted  me  to  the  ship.  As 
he  went  down  the  accommodation  ladder,  I  called 
over  the  rail:  "In  case  they  should  declare  war, 
cable  to  Curacoa,  and  I'll  come  back.  And  don't 
cable  anything  indefinite,  like  'Situation  critical' 
or  'War  imminent.'  Understand?  Cable  me, 
'Come  back'  or  'Go  ahead.'  But  whatever  you 
cable,  make  it  clear." 

44 


The  Spy 

He  shook  his  head  violently  and  with  his  green- 
lined  umbrella  pointed  at  my  elbow.  I  turned 
and  found  a  young  man  hungrily  listening  to  my 
words.  He  was  leaning  on  the  rail  with  his  chin 
on  his  arms  and  the  brim  of  his  Panama  hat 
drawn  down  to  conceal  his  eyes. 

On  the  pier-head,  from  which  we  now  were 
drawing  rapidly  away,  the  consul  made  a  mega 
phone  of  his  hands. 

"That's  him,"  he  called.     "That's  Jones." 

Jones  raised  his  head,  and  I  saw  that  the  trop 
ical  heat  had  made  Jones  thirsty,  or  that  with 
friends  he  had  been  celebrating  his  departure. 
He  winked  at  me,  and,  apparently  with  pleasure 
at  his  own  discernment  and  with  pity  for  me, 
smiled. 

"Oh,  of  course!"  he  murmured.  His  tone  was 
one  of  heavy  irony.  "Make  it  'clear.'  Make  it 
clear  to  the  whole  wharf.  Shout  it  out  so's  every 
body  can  hear  you.  You're  'clear'  enough."  His 
disgust  was  too  deep  for  ordinary  words.  "My 
uncle!"  he  exclaimed. 

By  this  I  gathered  that  he  was  expressing  his 
contempt. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  ?"  I  said. 

We  had  the  deck  to  ourselves.  Its  emptiness 
suddenly  reminded  me  that  we  had  the  ship,  also, 

45 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

to  ourselves.  I  remembered  the  purser  had  told 
me  that,  except  for  those  who  travelled  overnight 
from  port  to  port,  I  was  his  only  passenger. 

With  dismay  I  pictured  myself  for  ten  days 
adrift  on  the  high  seas — alone  with  Jones. 

With  a  dramatic  gesture,  as  one  would  say,  "I 
am  here!"  he  pushed  back  his  Panama  hat.  With 
an  unsteady  ringer  he  pointed,  as  it  was  drawn 
dripping  across  the  deck,  at  the  stern  hawser. 

"You  see  that  rope?"  he  demanded.  "Soon 
as  that  rope  hit  the  water  I  knocked  off  work. 
S'long  as  you  was  in  Valencia — me,  on  the  job. 
Now,  you  can't  go  back,  7  can't  go  back.  Why 
further  dissim'lation  ?  Who  am  I?" 

His  condition  seemed  to  preclude  the  possibil 
ity  of  his  knowing  who  he  was,  so  I  told  him. 

He  sneered  as  I  have  seen  men  sneer  only  in 
melodrama. 

"Oh,  of  course,"  he  muttered.     "Oh,  of  course/' 

He  lurched  toward  me  indignantly. 

(( You  know  perfec'ly  well  Jones  is  not  my  name. 
You  know  perfectly  well  who  I  am." 

"My  dear  sir,"  I  said,  "I  don't  know  anything 
about  you,  except  that  your  are  a  damned  nui 


sance." 


He  swayed  from  me,  pained  and  surprised.     Ap 
parently  he  was  upon  an  outbreak  of  tears. 

46 


The  Spy 

"Proud,"  he  murmured,  "and  haughty.  Proud 
and  haughty  to  the  last." 

I  never  have  understood  why  an  intoxicated 
man  feels  the  climax  of  insult  is  to  hurl  at  you 
your  name.  Perhaps  because  he  knows  it  is  the 
one  charge  you  cannot  deny.  But  invariably 
before  you  escape,  as  though  assured  the  words 
will  cover  your  retreat  with  shame,  he  throws  at 
you  your  full  title.  Jones  did  this. 

Slowly  and  mercilessly  he  repeated,  "Mr. — 
George — Morgan — Crosby.  Of  Harvard,"  he 
added.  "Proud  and  haughty  to  the  last." 

He  then  embraced  a  passing  steward,  and  de 
manded  to  be  informed  why  the  ship  rolled.  He 
never  knew  a  ship  to  roll  as  our  ship  rolled. 

"Perfectly  satisfactory  ocean,  but  ship — rolling 
like  a  stone-breaker.  Take  me  some  place  in  the 
ship  where  this  ship  don't  roll." 

The  steward  led  him  away. 

When  he  had  dropped  the  local  pilot  the  cap 
tain  beckoned  me  to  the  bridge. 

"I  saw  you  talking  to  Mr.  Schnitzel,"  he  said. 
"He's  a  little  under  the  weather.  He  has  too  light 
a  head  for  liquors." 

I  agreed  that  he  had  a  light  head,  and  said  I 
understood  his  name  was  Jones. 

"That's  what  I  wanted  to  tell  you,"  said  the 
47 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

captain.  "His  name  is  Schnitzel.  He  used  to 
work  for  the  Nitrate  Trust  in  New  York.  Then 
he  came  down  here  as  an  agent.  He's  a  good 
boy  not  to  tell  things  to.  Understand  ?  Some 
times  I  carry  him  under  one  name,  and  the  next 
voyage  under  another.  The  purser  and  he  fix  it 
up  between  'em.  It  pleases  him,  and  it  don't  hurt 
anybody  else,  so  long  as  I  tell  them  about  it.  I 
don't  know  who  he's  working  for  now,"  he  went 
on,  "but  I  know  he's  not  with  the  Nitrate  Com 
pany  any  more.  He  sold  them  out." 

"How  could  he  ?"  I  asked.     "He's  only  a  boy." 

"He  had  a  berth  as  typewriter  to  Senator  Burn- 
sides,  president  of  the  Nitrate  Trust,  sort  of  confi 
dential  stenographer,"  said  the  captain.  "When 
ever  the  senator  dictated  an  important  letter,  they 
say,  Schnitzel  used  to  make  a  carbon  copy,  and 
when  he  had  enough  of  them  he  sold  them  to  the 
Walker- Keefe  crowd.  Then,  when  Walker- Keefe 
lost  their  suit  in  the  Valencia  Supreme  Court  I 
guess  Schnitzel  went  over  to  President  Alvarez. 
And  again,  some  folks  say  he's  back  with  the  Ni 
trate  Company." 

"After  he  sold  them  out?" 

"Yes,  but  you  see  he's  worth  more  to  them  now. 
He  knows  all  the  Walker-Keefe  secrets  and  Alva 


rez's  secrets,  too." 


48 


The  Spy 

I  expressed  my  opinion  of  every  one  concerned. 

"It  shouldn't  surprise  you"  complained  the 
captain.  "You  know  the  country.  Every  man 
in  it  is  out  for  something  that  isn't  his.  The  pilot 
wants  his  bit,  the  health  doctor  must  get  his,  the 
customs  take  all  your  cigars,  and  if  you  don't  put 
up  gold  for  the  captain  of  the  port  and  the  alcalde 
and  the  commandant  and  the  harbor  police  and 
the  foreman  of  the  cargadores,  they  won't  move  a 
lighter,  and  they'll  hold  up  the  ship's  papers.  Well, 
an  American  comes  down  here,  honest  and  straight 
and  willing  to  work  for  his  wages.  But  pretty 
quick  he  finds  every  one  is  getting  his  squeeze  but 
him,  so  he  tries  to  get  some  of  it  back  by  rob 
bing  the  natives  that  robbed  him.  Then  he  robs 
the  other  foreigners,  and  it  ain't  long  before  he's 
cheating  the  people  at  home  who  sent  him  here. 
There  isn't  a  man  in  this  nitrate  row  that  isn't 
robbing  the  crowd  he's  with,  and  that  wouldn't 
change  sides  for  money.  Schnitzel's  no  worse  than 
the  president  nor  the  canteen  contractor." 

He  waved  his  hand  at  the  glaring  coast-line,  at  the 
steaming  swamps  and  the  hot,  naked  mountains. 

"It's  the  country  that  does  it,"  he  said.  "It's 
in  the  air.  You  can  smell  it  as  soon  as  you  drop 
anchor,  like  you  smell  the  slaughter-house  at 
Puma-Arenas." 

49 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"How  do  you  manage  to  keep  honest,"  I  asked, 
smiling. 

"I  don't  take  any  chances,"  exclaimed  the  cap 
tain  seriously.  "When  I'm  in  their  damned  port 
I  don't  go  ashore." 

I  did  not  again  see  Schnitzel  until,  with  hag 
gard  eyes  and  suspiciously  wet  hair,  he  joined  the 
captain,  doctor,  purser,  and  myself  at  breakfast. 
In  the  phrases  of  the  Tenderloin,  he  told  us  cheer 
fully  that  he  had  been  grandly  intoxicated,  and  to 
recover  drank  mixtures  of  raw  egg,  vinegar,  and 
red  pepper,  the  sight  of  which  took  away  every 
appetite  save  his  own.  When  to  this  he  had  added 
a  bottle  of  beer,  he  declared  himself  a  new  man. 
The  new  man  followed  me  to  the  deck,  and  with 
the  truculent  bearing  of  one  who  expects  to  be 
repelled,  he  asked  if,  the  day  before,  he  had  not 
made  a  fool  of  himself. 

I  suggested  he  had  been  somewhat  confidential. 

At  once  he  recovered  his  pose  and  patronized 
me. 

"Don't  you  believe  it,"  he  said.  "That's  all 
part  of  my  game.  *  Confidence  for  confidence* 
is  the  way  I  work  it.  That's  how  I  learn  things. 
I  tell  a  man  something  on  the  inside,  and  he  says: 
'Here's  a  nice  young  fellow.  Nothing  stand 
offish  about  him,'  and  he  tells  me  something  he 


The  Spy 

shouldn't.  Like  as  not  what  I  told  him  wasn't 
true.  See?" 

I  assured  him  he  interested  me  greatly. 

"You  find,  then,  in  your  line  of  business/'  I 
asked,  "that  apparent  frankness  is  advisable  ?  As 
a  rule,"  I  explained,  "secrecy  is  what  a — a  person 
in  your  line — a " 

To  save  his  feelings  I  hesitated  at  the  word. 

"A  spy,"  he  said.  His  face  beamed  with  fatu 
ous  complacency. 

"But  if  I  had  not  known  you  were  a  spy,"  I 
asked,  "would  not  that  have  been  better  for  you  ?" 

"In  dealing  with  a  party  like  you,  Mr.  Crosby," 
Schnitzel  began  sententiously,  "I  use  a  different 
method.  You're  on  a  secret  mission  yourself,  and 
you  get  your  information  about  the  nitrate  row 
one  way,  and  I  get  it  another.  I  deal  with  you 
just  like  we  were  drummers  in  the  same  line  of 
goods.  We  are  rivals  in  business,  but  outside  of 
business  hours  perfect  gentleman." 

In  the  face  of  the  disbelief  that  had  met  my 
denials  of  any  secret  mission,  I  felt  to  have  Schnit 
zel  also  disbelieve  me  would  be  too  great  a  hu 
miliation.  So  I  remained  silent. 

"You  make  your  report  to  the  State  Depart 
ment,"  he  explained,  "and  I  make  mine  to — my 
people.  Who  they  are  doesn't  matter.  You'd 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

like  to  know,  and  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feel 
ings,  but — that's  my  secret." 

My  only  feelings  were  a  desire  to  kick  Schnitzel 
heavily,  but  for  Schnitzel  to  suspect  that  was  im 
possible.  Rather,  he  pictured  me  as  shaken  by 
his  disclosures. 

As  he  hung  over  the  rail  the  glare  of  the  sun  on 
the  tumbling  water  lit  up  his  foolish,  mongrel 
features,  exposed  their  cunning,  their  utter  lack 
of  any  character,  and  showed  behind  the  shifty 
eyes  the  vacant,  half-crooked  mind. 

Schnitzel  was  smiling  to  himself  with  a  smile  of 
complete  self-satisfaction.  In  the  light  of  his  later 
conduct,  I  grew  to  understand  that  smile.  He  had 
anticipated  a  rebuff,  and  he  had  been  received,  as 
he  read  it,  with  consideration.  The  irony  of  my 
politeness  he  had  entirely  missed.  Instead,  he 
read  in  what  I  said  the  admiration  of  the  amateur 
for  the  professional.  He  saw  what  he  believed  to 
be  a  high  agent  of  the  Government  treating  him  as 
a  worthy  antagonist.  In  no  other  way  can  I  ex 
plain  his  later  heaping  upon  me  his  confidences. 
It  was  the  vanity  of  a  child  trying  to  show  off. 

In  ten  days,  in  the  limited  area  of  a  two-thou 
sand-ton  steamer,  one  could  not  help  but  learn 
something  of  the  history  of  so  communicative  a 
fellow-passenger  as  Schnitzel.  His  parents  were 

52 


Schnitzel  was  smiling  to  himself 


The  Spy 

German  and  still  lived  in  Germany.  But  he 
himself  had  been  brought  up  on  the  East  Side. 
An  uncle  who  kept  a  delicatessen  shop  in  Avenue 
A  had  sent  him  to  the  public  schools  and  then 
to  a  "business  college,"  where  he  had  developed 
remarkable  expertness  as  a  stenographer.  He  re 
ferred  to  his  skill  in  this  difficult  exercise  with 
pitying  contempt.  Nevertheless,  from  a  room 
noisy  with  type-writers  this  skill  had  lifted  him 
into  the  private  office  of  the  president  of  the  Ni 
trate  Trust.  There,  as  Schnitzel  expressed1  it,  "I 
saw  'mine,'  and  I  took  it."  To  trace  back  the 
criminal  instinct  that  led  Schnitzel  to  steal  and 
sell  the  private  letters  of  his  employer  was  not 
difficult.  In  all  of  his  few  early  years  I  found  it 
lying  latent.  Of  every  story  he  told  of  himself, 
and  he  talked  only  of  himself,  there  was  not  one 
that  was  not  to  his  discredit.  He  himself  never 
saw  this,  nor  that  all  he  told  me  showed  he  was 
without  the  moral  sense,  and  with  an  instinctive 
enjoyment  of  what  was  deceitful,  mean,  and  un 
derhand.  That,  as  I  read  it,  was  his  character. 
In  appearance  he  was  smooth-shaven,  with  long 
locks  that  hung  behind  wide,  protruding  ears.  He 
had  the  unhealthy  skin  of  bad  blood,  and  his 
eyes,  as  though  the  daylight  hurt  them,  constantly 
opened  and  shut.  He  was  like  hundreds  of  young 

53 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

men  that  you  see  loitering  on  upper  Broadway  and 
making  predatory  raids  along  the  Rialto.  Had 
you  passed  him  in  that  neighborhood  you  would 
have  set  him  down  as  a  wire-tapper,  a  racing  tout, 
a  would-be  actor. 

As  I  worked  it  out,  Schnitzel  was  a  spy  because 
it  gave  him  an  importance  he  had  not  been  able 
to  obtain  by  any  other  effort.  As  a  child  and  as 
a  clerk,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  among  his  asso 
ciates  Schnitzel  must  always  have  been  the  butt. 
Until  suddenly,  by  one  dirty  action,  he  had  placed 
himself  outside  their  class.  As  he  expressed  it: 
"Whenever  I  walk  through  the  office  now,  where 
all  the  stenographers  sit,  you  ought  to  see  those 
slobs  look  after  me.  When  they  go  to  the  presi 
dent's  door,  they  got  to  knock,  like  I  used  to,  but 
now,  when  the  old  man  sees  me  coming  to  make 
my  report  after  one  of  these  trips  he  calls  out, 
'Come  right  in,  Mr.  Schnitzel.'  And  like  as  not 
I  go  in  with  my  hat  on  and  offer  him  a  cigar.  An' 
they  see  me  do  it,  too ! " 

To  me,  that  speech  seemed  to  give  Schnitzel's 
view  of  the  values  of  his  life.  His  vanity  de 
manded  he  be  pointed  at,  if  even  with  contempt. 
But  the  contempt  never  reached  him — he  only 
knew  that  at  last  people  took  note  of  him.  They 
no  longer  laughed  at  him,  they  were  afraid  of  him. 

54 


The  Spy 

In  his  heart  he  believed  that  they  regarded  him  as 
one  who  walked  in  the  dark  places  of  world  poli 
tics,  who  possessed  an  evil  knowledge  of  great  men 
as  evil  as  himself,  as  one  who  by  blackmail  held 
public  ministers  at  his  mercy. 

This  view  of  himself  was  the  one  that  he  tried 
to  give  me.  I  probably  was  the  first  decent  man 
who  ever  had  treated  him  civilly,  and  to  impres? 
me  with  his  knowledge  he  spread  that  knowledge 
before  me.  It  was  sale,  shocking,  degrading. 

At  first  I  took  comfort  in  the  thought  that  Schnit 
zel  was  a  liar.  Later,  I  began  to  wonder  if  all  of  it 
were  a  lie,  and  finally,  in  a  way  I  could  not  doubt, 
it  was  proved  to  me  that  the  worst  he  charged  was 
true. 

The  night  I  first  began  to  believe  him  was  the 
night  we  touched  at  Cristobal,  the  last  port  in 
Valencia.  In  the  most  light-hearted  manner  he 
had  been  accusing  all  concerned  in  the  nitrate  fight 
with  every  crime  known  in  Wall  Street  and  in  the 
dark  reaches  of  the  Congo  River. 

"  But,  I  know  him,  Mr.  Schnitzel,"  I  said  sternly. 
"He  is  incapable  of  it.  I  went  to  college  with 
him." 

"I  don't  care  whether  he's  a  rah-rah  boy  or 
not,"  said  Schnitzel,  "I  know  that's  what  he  did 
when  he  was  up  the  Orinoco  after  orchids,  and  if 

55 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

the  tribe  had  ever  caught  him  they'd  have  cruci 
fied  him.  And  I  know  this,  too:  he  made  forty 
thousand  dollars  out  of  the  Nitrate  Company  on  a 
ten-thousand-dollar  job.  And  I  know  it,  because 
he  beefed  to  me  about  it  himself,  because  it  wasn't 
big  enough." 

We  were  passing  the  limestone  island  at  the  en 
trance  to  the  harbor,  where,  in  the  prison  fortress, 
with  its  muzzle-loading  guns  pointing  drunkenly 
at  the  sky,  are  buried  the  political  prisoners  of 
Valencia. 

"Now,  there/'  said  Schnitzel,  pointing,  "that 
shows  you  what  the  Nitrate  Trust  can  do.  Judge 
Rojas  is  in  there.  He  gave  the  first  decision  in 
favor  of  the  Walker- Keefe  people,  and  for  making 
that  decision  William  T.  Scott,  the  Nitrate  man 
ager,  made  Alvarez  put  Rojas  in  there.  He's 
seventy  years  old,  and  he's  been  there  five  years. 
The  cell  they  keep  him  in  is  below  the  sea-level, 
and  the  salt-water  leaks  through  the  wall.  I've 
seen  it.  That's  what  William  T.  Scott  did,  an' 
up  in  New  York  people  think  'Billy'  Scott  is  a 
fine  man.  I  seen  him  at  the  Horse  Show  sitting  in 
a  box,  bowing  to  everybody,  with  his  wife  sitting 
beside  him,  all  hung  out  with  pearls.  An'  that 
was  only  a  month  after  I'd  seen  Rojas  in  that 
sewer  where  Scott  put  him." 

56 


The  Spy 

"Schnitzel,"  I  laughed,  "you  certainly  are  a 
magnificent  liar." 

Schnitzel  showed  no  resentment. 

"Go  ashore  and  look  for  yourself,"  he  muttered. 
"  Don't  believe  me.  Ask  Rojas.  Ask  the  first 
man  you  meet."  He  shivered,  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "I  tell  you,  the  walls  are  damp,  like 


sweat." 


The  Government  had  telegraphed  the  com 
mandant  to  come  on  board  and,  as  he  expressed 
it,  "offer  me  the  hospitality  of  the  port,"  which 
meant  that  I  had  to  take  him  to  the  smoking- 
room  and  give  him  champagne.  What  the  Gov 
ernment  really  wanted  was  to  find  out  whether  I 
was  still  on  board,  and  if  it  were  finally  rid  of 
me. 

I  asked  the  official  concerning  Judge  Rojas. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said  readily.  "He  is  still  incomu- 
nicado" 

Without  believing  it  would  lead  to  anything,  I 
suggested : 

"It  was  foolish  of  him  to  give  offence  to  Mr. 
Scott?" 

The  commandant  nodded  vivaciously. 

"Mr.  Scott  is  very  powerful  man,"  he  assented. 
"We  all  very  much  love  Mr.  Scott.  The  president, 
lie  love  Mr.  Scott,  too,  but  the  judges  were  not 

57 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

sympathetic  to  Mr.  Scott,  so  Mr.  Scott  asked  our 
president  to  give  them  a  warning,  and  Senor  Rojas 
— he  is  the  warning." 

"When  will  he  get  out  ?"   I  asked. 

The  commandant  held  up  the  glass  in  the  sun 
light  from  the  open  air-port,  and  gazed  admiringly 
at  the  bubbles. 

"Who  can  tell,"  he  said.  "Any  day  when  Mr. 
Scott  wishes.  Maybe,  never.  Senor  Rojas  is  an 
old  man.  Old,  and  he  has  much  rheumatics. 
Maybe,  he  will  never  come  out  to  see  our  beloved 
country  any  more." 

As  we  left  the  harbor  we  passed  so  close  that 
one  could  throw  a  stone  against  the  wall  of  the  for 
tress.  The  sun  was  just  sinking  and  the  air  be 
came  suddenly  chilled.  Around  the  little  island  of 
limestone  the  waves  swept  through  the  sea-weed 
and  black  manigua  up  to  the  rusty  bars  of  the  cells. 
I  saw  the  barefooted  soldiers  smoking  upon  the 
sloping  ramparts,  the  common  criminals  in  a  long 
stumbling  line  bearing  kegs  of  water,  three  storm- 
beaten  palms  rising  like  gallows,  and  the  green  and 
yellow  flag  of  Valencia  crawling  down  the  stafF. 
Somewhere  entombed  in  that  blotched  and  mil 
dewed  masonry  an  old  man  of  seventy  years  was 
shivering  and  hugging  himself  from  the  damp  and 
cold.  A  man  who  spoke  five  languages,  a  just, 

58 


"Schnitzel,  you  certainly  are  a  magnificent  liar 


The  Spy 

brave  gentleman.  To  me  it  was  no  new  story.  I 
knew  of  the  horrors  of  Cristobal  prison;  of  politi 
cal  rivals  chained  to  criminals  loathsome  with  dis 
ease,  of  men  who  had  raised  the  flag  of  revolution 
driven  to  suicide.  But  never  had  I  supposed  that 
my  own  people  could  reach  from  the  city  of  New 
York  and  cast  a  fellow-man  into  that  cellar  of 
fever  and  madness. 

As  I  watched  the  yellow  wall  sink  into  the  sea, 
I  became  conscious  that  Schnitzel  was  near  me, 
as  before,  leaning  on  the  rail,  with  his  chin  sunk 
on  his  arms.  His  face  was  turned  toward  the  for 
tress,  and  for  the  first  time  since  I  had  known  him 
it  was  set  and  serious.  And  when,  a  moment 
later,  he  passed  me  without  recognition,  I  saw 
that  his  eyes  were  filled  with  fear. 

When  we  touched  at  Curacoa  I  sent  a  cable  to 
my  sister,  announcing  the  date  of  my  arrival,  and 
then  continued  on  to  the  Hotel  Venezuela.  Almost 
immediately  Schnitzel  joined  me.  With  easy  care 
lessness  he  said:  *'I  was  in  the  cable  office  just 
now,  sending  off  a  wire,  and  that  operator  told 
me  he  can't  make  head  or  tail  of  the  third  word  in 
your  cable.' 

"That  is  strange,"  I  commented,  "because  it's 
a  French  word,  and  he  is  French.  That's  why  I 
wrote  it  in  French." 

59 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

With  the  air  of  one  who  nails  another  in  a  false 
hood,  Schnitzel  exclaimed: 

"Then,  how  did  you  suppose  your  sister  was 
going  to  read  it  ?  It's  a  cipher,  that's  what  it  is. 
Oh,  no,  you  re  not  on  a  secret  mission!  Not  at 
all!" 

It  was  most  undignified  of  me,  but  in  five  min 
utes  I  excused  myself,  and  sent  to  the  State  De 
partment  the  following  words : 

"Roses  red,  violets  blue,  send  snow." 

Later  at  the  State  Department  the  only  person 
who  did  not  eventually  pardon  my  jest  was  the 
clerk  who  had  sat  up  until  three  in  the  morning 
with  my  cable,  trying  to  fit  it  to  any  known  code. 

Immediately  after  my  return  to  the  Hotel  Vene 
zuela  Schnitzel  excused  himself,  and  half  an  hour 
later  returned  in  triumph  with  the  cable  operator 
and  ordered  lunch  for  both.  They  imbibed  much 
sweet  champagne. 

When  we  again  were  safe  at  sea,  I  said:  "Schnit 
zel,  how  much  did  you  pay  that  Frenchman  to  let 
you  read  my  second  cable?" 

Schnitzel's  reply  was  prompt  and  complacent. 

"One  hundred  dollars  gold.  It  was  worth  it. 
Do  you  want  to  know  how  I  doped  it  out  ?" 

I  even  challenged  him  to  do  so.  "  *  Roses  red ' 
— war  declared;  'violets  blue* — outlook  bad,  or 

60 


The  Spy 

blue;  'send  snow' — send  squadron,  because  the 
white  squadron  is  white  like  snow.  See  ?  It  was 
too  easy." 

"Schnitzel,"  I  cried,  "you  are  wonderful!" 

Schnitzel  yawned  in  my  face. 

"Oh,  you  don't  have  to  hit  the  soles  of  my  feet 
with  a  night-stick  to  keep  me  awake,"  he  said. 

After  I  had  been  a  week  at  sea,  I  found  that 
either  I  had  to  believe  that  in  all  things  Schnitzel 
was  a  liar,  or  that  the  men  of  the  Nitrate  Trust 
were  in  all  things  evil.  I  was  convinced  that 
instead  of  the  people  of  Valencia  robbing  them, 
they  were  robbing  both  the  people  of  Valencia 
and  the  people  of  the  United  States. 

To  go  to  war  on  their  account  was  to  degrade 
our  Government.  I  explained  to  Schnitzel  it  was 
not  becoming  that  the  United  States  navy  should 
be  made  the  cat's-paw  of  a  corrupt  corporation.  I 
asked  his  permission  to  repeat  to  the  authorities  at 
Washington  certain  of  the  statements  he  had  made. 

Schnitzel  was  greatly  pleased. 

"You're  welcome  to  tell  'em  anything  I've 
said,"  he  assented.  "And,"  he  added,  "most 
of  it's  true,  too."  > 

I  wrote  down  certain  charges  he  had  made, 
and  added  what  I  had  always  known  of  the  nitrate 
fight.  It  was  a  terrible  arraignment.  In  the 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

•evening  I  read  my  notes  to  Schnitzel,  who,  in  a 
corner  of  the  smoking-room,  sat,  frowning  im 
portantly,  checking  off  each  statement,  and  where 
I  made  an  error  of  a  date  or  a  name,  severely  cor 
recting  me. 

Several  times  I  asked  him,  "Are  you  sure  this 
won't  get  you  into  trouble  with  your  'people'? 
You  seem  to  accuse  everybody  on  each  side." 

Schnitzel's  eyes  instantly  closed  with  suspicion. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  me  and  my  people,"  he 
returned  sulkily.  "That's  my  secret,  and  you 
won't  find  it  out,  neither.  I  may  be  as  crooked 
as  the  rest  of  them,  but  I'm  not  giving  away  my 
employer." 

I  suppose  I  looked  puzzled. 

"I  mean  not  a  second  time,"  he  added  hastily. 
"I  know  what  you're  thinking  of,  and  I  got  five 
thousand  dollars  for  it.  But  now  I  mean  to  stick 
by  the  men  that  pay  my  wages." 

"  But  you've  told  me  enough  about  each  of  the 
three  to  put  any  one  of  them  in  jail." 

"Of  course,  I  have,"  cried  Schnitzel  trium 
phantly. 

"If  I'd  let  down  on  any  one  crowd  you'd  know 
I  was  working  for  that  crowd,  so  I've  touched  'em 
all  up.  Only  what  I  told  you  about  my  crowd — 


isn't  true." 


62 


The  Spy 

The  report  we  finally  drew  up  was  so  sensa 
tional  that  I  was  of  a  mind  to  throw  it  overboard. 
It  accused  members  of  the  Cabinet,  of  our  Sen 
ate,  diplomats,  business  men  of  national  interest, 
judges  of  the  Valencia  courts,  private  secretaries, 
clerks,  hired  bullies,  and  filibusters.  Men  the 
trust  could  not  bribe  it  had  blackmailed.  Those 
it  could  not  corrupt,  and  they  were  pitifully  few, 
it  crushed  with  some  disgraceful  charge. 

Looking  over  my  notes,  I  said : 

"You  seem  to  have  made  every  charge  except 
murder." 

"How'd  I  come  to  leave  that  out?"  Schnitzel 
answered  flippantly.  "What  about  Coleman,  the 
foreman  at  Bahia,  and  that  German  contractor, 
Ebhardt,  and  old  Smedburg  ?  They  talked  too 
much,  and  they  died  of  yellow-fever,  maybe,  and 
maybe  what  happened  to  them  was  they  ate  knock 
out  drops  in  their  soup." 

I  disbelieved  him,  but  there  came  a  sudden 
nasty  doubt. 

"Curtis,  who  managed  the  company's  plant  at 
Barcelona,  died  of  yellow-fever,"  I  said,  and  was 
buried  the  same  day." 

For  some  time  Schnitzel  glowered  uncertainly 
at  the  bulkhead. 

"Did  you  know  him  ?"   he  asked. 

63 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"When  I  was  in  the  legation  I  knew  him  well," 
I  said. 

"So  did  I,"  said  Schnitzel.  "He  wasn't  mur 
dered.  He  murdered  himself.  He  was  wrong 
ten  thousand  dollars  in  his  accounts.  He  got 
worrying  about  it  and  we  found  him  outside  the 
clearing  with  a  hole  in  his  head.  He  left  a  note 
saying  he  couldn't  bear  the  disgrace.  As  if  the 
company  would  hold  a  little  grafting  against  as 
good  a  man  as  Curtis!" 

Schnitzel  coughed  and  pretended  it  was  his 
cigarette. 

"You  see  you  don't  put  in  nothing  against 
him,"  he  added  savagely. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  Schnitzel  show 
emotion,  and  I  was  moved  to  preach. 

"Why  don't  you  quit?"  I  said.  "You  had  an 
A i  job  as  a  stenographer.  Why  don't  you  go 
back  to  it?" 

"Maybe,  some  day.  But  it's  great  being  your 
own  boss.  If  I  was  a  stenographer,  I  wouldn't 
be  helping  you  send  in  a  report  to  the  State  De 
partment,  would  I  ?  No,  this  job  is  all  right. 
They  send  you  after  something  big,  and  you  have 
the  devil  of  a  time  getting  it,  but  when  you  get  it, 
you  feel  like  you  had  picked  a  hundred-to-one 
shot." 

64 


The  Spy 

The  talk  or  the  drink  had  elated  him.  His  fish- 
like  eyes  bulged  and  shone.  He  cast  a  quick  look 
about  him.  Except  for  ourselves,  the  smoking- 
room  was  empty.  From  below  came  the  steady 
throb  of  the  engines,  and  from  outside  the  whis 
per  of  the  waves  and  of  the  wind  through  the 
cordage.  A  barefooted  sailor  pattered  by  to  the 
bridge.  Schnitzel  bent  toward  me,  and  with  his 
hand  pointed  to  his  throat. 

"I've  got  papers  on  me  that's  worth  a  million 
to  a  certain  party,"  he  whispered.  uYou  under 
stand,  my  notes  in  cipher." 

He  scowled  with  intense  mystery. 

"I  keep  'em  in  an  oiled-silk  bag,  tied  around 
my  neck  with  a  string.  And  here,"  he  added 
hastily,  patting  his  hip,  as  though  to  forestall  any 
attack  I  might  make  upon  his  person,  "I  carry 
my  automatic.  It  shoots  nine  bullets  in  five  sec 
onds.  They  got  to  be  quick  to  catch  me." 

"Well,  if  you  have  either  of  those  things  on 
you,"  I  said  testily,  "I  don't  want  to  know  it. 
How  often  have  I  told  you  not  to  talk  and  drink 
at  the  same  time?" 

"Ah,  go  on,"  laughed  Schnitzel.  "That's  an 
old  gag,  warning  a  fellow  not  to  talk  so  as  to  make 
him  talk.  I  do  that  myself." 

That  Schnitzel  had  important  papers  tied  to  his 
65 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

neck  I  no  more  believe  than  that  he  wore  a  shirt 
of  chain  armor,  but  to  please  him  I  pretended  to 
be  greatly  concerned. 

"Now  that  we're  getting  into  New  York,"  I 
said,  "you  must  be  very  careful.  A  man  who  car 
ries  such  important  documents  on  his  person  might 
be  murdered  for  them.  I  think  you  ought  to  dis 
guise  yourself." 

A  picture  of  my  bag  being  carried  ashore  by 
Schnitzel  in  the  uniform  of  a  ship's  steward  rather 
pleased  me. 

"Go  on,  you're  kidding!"  said  Schnitzel.  He 
was  drawn  between  believing  I  was  deeply  im 
pressed  and  with  fear  that  I  was  mocking  him. 

"On  the  contrary,"  I  protested,  "I  don't  feel 
quite  safe  myself.  Seeing  me  with  you  they  may 
think  I  have  papers  around  my  neck." 

"They  wouldn't  look  at  you,"  Schnitzel  reas 
sured  me.  "They  know  you're  just  an  amateur. 
But,  as  you  say,  with  me,  it's  different.  I  got 
to  be  careful.  Now,  you  mightn't  believe  it,  but 
I  never  go  near  my  uncle  nor  none  of  my  friends 
that  live  where  I  used  to  hang  out.  If  I  did,  the 
other  spies  would  get  on  my  track.  I  suppose," 
he  went  on  grandly,  "  I  never  go  out  in  New  York 
but  that  at  least  two  spies  are  trailing  me.  But  I 
know  how  to  throw  them  off.  I  live  'way  down 

66 


The  Spy 

town  in  a  little  hotel  you  never  heard  of.  You 
never  catch  me  dining  at  Sherry's  nor  the  Waldorf. 
And  you  never  met  me  out  socially,  did  you,  now  ? " 

I  confessed  I  had  not. 

"And  then,   I   always  live  under  an  assumed 


name." 


"Like 'Jones'?"   I  suggested. 

"Well,  sometimes  'Jones/"  he  admitted. 

"To  me,"  I  said,  "'Jones'  lacks  imagination 
It's  the  sort  of  name  you  give  when  you're  arrested 
for  exceeding  the  speed  limit.     Why  don't  you  call 
yourself  Machiavelli  ?" 

"Go  on,  I'm  no  dago,"  said  Schnitzel,  "and 
don't  you  go  off  thinking  'Jones'  is  the  only  dis 
guise  I  use.  But  I'm  not  tellin'  what  it  is,  am  I  ? 
Oh,  no." 

"Schnitzel,"  I  asked,  "have  you  ever  been  told 
that  you  would  make  a  great  detective  ?" 

"Cut  it  out,"  said  Schnitzel.  "You've  been 
reading  those  fairy  stories.  There's  no  fly  cops 
nor  Pinks  could  do  the  work  I  do.  They're 
pikers  compared  to  me.  They  chase  petty-larceny 
cases  and  kick  in  doors.  I  wouldn't  stoop  to 
what  they  do.  It's  being  mixed  up  the  way  I 
am  with  the  problems  of  two  governments  that 
catches  me."  He  added  magnanimously,  "You 
see  something  of  that  yourself." 

67 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

We  left  the  ship  at  Brooklyn,  and  with  regret  I 
prepared  to  bid  Schnitzel  farewell.  Seldom  had 
I  met  a  little  beast  so  offensive,  but  his  vanity,  his 
lies,  his  moral  blindness,  made  one  pity  him.  And 
in  ten  days  in  the  smoking-room  together  we  had 
had  many  friendly  drinks  and  many  friendly 
laughs.  He  was  going  to  a  hotel  on  lower  Broad 
way,  and  as  my  cab,  on  my  way  uptown,  passed 
the  door,  I  offered  him  a  lift.  He  appeared  to 
consider  the  advisability  of  this,  and  then,  with 
much  by-play  of  glancing  over  his  shoulder,  dived 
into  the  front  seat  and  drew  down  the  blinds. 
"This  hotel  I  am  going  to  is  an  old-fashioned 
trap,"  he  explained,  "but  the  clerk  is  wise  to  me, 
understand,  and  I  don't  have  to  sign  the  reg 


ister." 


As  we  drew  nearer  to  the  hotel,  he  said:  "It's  a 
pity  we  can't  dine  out  somewheres  and  go  to  the 
theatre,  but — you  know  ?" 

With  almost  too  much  heartiness  I  hastily 
agreed  it  would  be  imprudent. 

"I  understand  perfectly,"  I  assented.  "You 
are  a  marked  man.  Until  you  get  those  papers 
safe  in  the  hands  of  your  'people,'  you  must  be 
very  cautious." 

"That's  right,"  he  said.  Then  he  smiled 
craftily. 

68 


The  Spy 

I  wonder  if  you're  on  yet  to  which  my  people 


are." 


I  assured  him  that  I  had  no  idea,  but  that  from 
the  avidity  with  which  he  had  abused  them  I  guessed 
he  was  working  for  the  Walker-Keefe  crowd. 

He  both  smiled  and  scowled. 

"Don't  you  wish  you  knew?"  he  said.  "I've 
told  you  a  lot  of  inside  stories,  Mr.  Crosby,  but 
I'll  never  tell  on  my  pals  again.  Not  me!  That's 
my  secret." 

At  the  door  of  the  hotel  he  bade  me  a  hasty 
good-by,  and  for  a  few  minutes  I  believed  that 
Schnitzel  had  passed  out  of  my  life  forever.  Then, 
in  taking  account  of  my  belongings,  I  missed  my 
field-glasses.  I  remembered  that,  in  order  to 
open  a  trunk  for  the  customs  inspectors,  I  had 
handed  them  to  Schnitzel,  and  that  he  had  hung 
them  over  his  shoulder.  In  our  haste  at  parting 
we  both  had  forgotten  them. 

I  was  only  a  few  blocks  from  the  hotel,  and  I 
told  the  man  to  return. 

I  inquired  for  Mr.  Schnitzel,  and  the  clerk,  who 
apparently  knew  him  by  that  name,  said  he  was 
in  his  room,  number  eighty-two. 

"But  he  has  a  caller  with  him  now,"  he  added. 
"A  gentleman  was  waiting  for  him,  and's  just 
gone  up." 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

I  wrote  on  my  card  why  I  had  called,  and  soon 
after  it  had  been  borne  skyward  the  clerk  said: 
"I  guess  he'll  be  able  to  see  you  now.  That's 
the  party  that  was  calling  on  him,  there." 

He  nodded  toward  a  man  who  crossed  the  ro 
tunda  quickly.  His  face  was  twisted  from  us,  as 
though,  as  he  almost  ran  toward  the  street,  he 
were  reading  the  advertisements  on  the  wall. 

He  reached  the  door,  and  was  lost  in  the  great 
tide  of  Broadway. 

I  crossed  to  the  elevator,  and  as  I  stood  wait 
ing,  it  descended  with  a  crash,  and  the  boy  who 
had  taken  my  card  flung  himself,  shrieking,  into 
the  rotunda. 

"That  man — stop  him!"  he  cried.  "The  man 
in  eighty-two — he's  murdered." 

The  clerk  vaulted  the  desk  and  sprang  into  the 
street,  and  I  dragged  the  boy  back  to  the  wire  rope 
and  we  shot  to  the  third  story.  The  boy  shrank 
back.  A  chambermaid,  crouching  against  the 
wall,  her  face  colorless,  lowered  one  hand,  and 
pointed  at  an  open  door. 

"In  there,"  she  whispered. 

In  a  mean,  common  room,  stretched  where  he 
had  been  struck  back  upon  the  bed,  I  found  the 
boy  who  had  elected  to  meddle  in  the  "problems 
of  two  governments." 

70 


The  Spy 

In  tiny  jets,  from  three  wide  knife-wounds,  his 
blood  flowed  slowly.  His  staring  eyes  were  lifted 
up  in  fear  and  in  entreaty.  I  knew  that  he  was 
dying,  and  as  I  felt  my  impotence  to  help  him,  I  as 
keenly  felt  a  great  rage  and  a  hatred  toward  those 
who  had  struck  him. 

I  leaned  over  him  until  my  eyes  were  only  a  few 
inches  from  his  face. 

"Schnitzel!"  I  cried.  "Who  did  this?  You 
can  trust  me.  Who  did  this?  Quick!" 

I  saw  that  he  recognized  me,  and  that  there  was 
something  which,  with  terrible  effort,  he  was  try 
ing  to  make  me  understand. 

In  the  hall  was  the  rush  of  many  people,  run 
ning,  exclaiming,  the  noise  of  bells  ringing;  from 
another  floor  the  voice  of  a  woman  shrieked  hys 
terically. 

At  the  sounds  the  eyes  of  the  boy  grew  eloquent 
with  entreaty,  and  with  a  movement  that  called 
from  each  wound  a  fresh  outburst,  like  a  man 
strangling,  he  lifted  his  fingers  to  his  throat. 

Voices  were  calling  for  water,  to  wait  for  the 
doctor,  to  wait  for  the  police^.  But  I  thought  I 
understood. 

Still  doubting  him,  still  unbelieving,  ashamed 
of  my  own  credulity,  I  tore  at  his  collar,  and  my 
fingers  closed  upon  a  package  of  oiled  silk. 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

I  stooped,  and  with  my  teeth  ripped  it  open,  and 
holding  before  him  the  slips  of  paper  it  contained, 
tore  them  into  tiny  shreds. 

The  eyes  smiled  at  me  with  cunning,  with  tri 
umph,  with  deep  content. 

It  was  so  like  the  Schnitzel  I  had  known  that  I 
believed  still  he  might  have  strength  enough  to 
help  me. 

"Who  did  this  ?"  I  begged.  'Til  hang  him  for 
it!  Do  you  hear  me  ?"  I  cried. 

Seeing  him  lying  there,  with  the  life  cut  out  of 
him,  swept  me  with  a  blind  anger,  with  a  need  to 
punish. 

'Til  see  they  hang  for  it.  Tell  me!"  I  com 
manded.  "Who  did  this?" 

The  eyes,  now  filled  with  weariness,  looked  up 
and  the  lips  moved  feebly. 

"My  own  people,"  he  whispered. 

In  my  indignation  I  could  have  shaken  the 
truth  from  him.  I  bent  closer. 

"Then,  by  God,"  I  whispered  back,  "you'll 
tell  me  who  they  are ! " 

The  eyes  flashed  sullenly. 

"That's  my  secret,"  said  Schnitzel. 

The  eyes  set  and  the  lips  closed. 

A  man  at  my  side  leaned  over  him,  and  drew 
the  sheet  across  his  face. 

72 


THE  MESSENGERS 


THE  MESSENGERS 

WHEN  Ainsley  first  moved  to  Lone  Lake 
Farm  all  of  his  friends  asked  him  the 
same  question.  They  wanted  to  know,  if  the 
farmer  who  sold  it  to  him  had  abandoned  it  as 
worthless,  how  one  of  the  idle  rich,  who  could  not 
distinguish  a  plough  from  a  harrow,  hoped  to  make 
it  pay  ?  His  answer  was  that  he  had  not  pur 
chased  the  farm  as  a  means  of  getting  richer  by 
honest  toil,  but  as  a  retreat  from  the  world  and 
as  a  test  of  true  friendship.  He  argued  that  the 
people  he  knew  accepted  his  hospitality  at  Sherry's 
because,  in  any  event,  they  themselves  would  be 
dining  within  a  taxicab  fare  of  the  same  place.  But 
if  to  see  him  they  travelled  all  the  way  to  Lone 
Lake  Farm,  he  might  feel  assured  that  they  were 
friends  indeed. 

Lone  Lake  Farm  was  spread  over  many  acres 
of  rocky  ravine  and  forest,  at  a  point  where  Con 
necticut  approaches  New  York,  and  between  it 
and  the  nearest  railroad  station  stretched  six  miles 
of  an  execrable  wood  road.  In  this  wilderness, 

75 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

directly  upon  the  lonely  lake,  and  at  a  spot  equally 
distant  from  each  of  his  boundary  lines,  Ainsley 
built  himself  a  red  brick  house.  Here,  in  soli 
tude,  he  exiled  himself;  ostensibly  to  become  a 
gentleman  farmer;  in  reality  to  wait  until  Polly 
Kirkland  had  made  up  her  mind  to  marry  him. 
Lone  Lake,  which  gave  the  farm  its  name,  was 
a  pond  hardly  larger  than  a  city  block.  It  was 
fed  by  hidden  springs,  and  fringed  about  with  reeds 
and  cat-tails,  stunted  willows  and  shivering  birch. 
From  its  surface  jutted  points  of  the  same  rock 
that  had  made  farming  unremunerative,  and  to 
these  miniature  promontories  and  islands  Ainsley, 
in  keeping  with  a  fancied  resemblance,  gave  such 
names  as  the  Needles,  St.  Helena,  the  Isle  of 
Pines.  From  the  edge  of  the  pond  that  was  far 
ther  from  the  house  rose  a  high  hill,  heavily  wooded. 
At  its  base,  oak  and  chestnut  trees  spread  their 
branches  over  the  water,  and  when  the  air  was 
still  were  so  clearly  reflected  in  the  pond  that 
the  leaves  seemed  to  float  upon  the  surface.  To 
the  smiling  expanse  of  the  farm  the  lake  was 
what  the  eye  is  to  the  human  countenance.  The 
oaks  were  its  eyebrows,  the  fringe  of  reeds  its 
lashes,  and,  in  changing  mood,  it  flashed  with 
happiness  or  brooded  in  sombre  melancholy.  For 
Ainsley  it  held  a  deep  attraction.  Through  the 

76 


The  Messengers 

summer  evenings,  as  the  sun  set,  he  would  sit  on 
the  brick  terrace  and  watch  the  fish  leaping,  and 
listen  to  the  venerable  bull-frogs  croaking  false 
alarms  of  rain.  Indeed,  after  he  met  Polly  Kirk- 
land,  staring  moodily  at  the  lake  became  his  favorite 
form  of  exercise.  With  a  number  of  other  men, 
Ainsley  was  very  much  in  love  with  Miss  Kirkland, 
and  unprejudiced  friends  thought  that  if  she  were 
to  choose  any  of  her  devotees,  Ainsley  should  be 
that  one.  Ainsley  heartily  agreed  in  this  opinion, 
but  in  persuading  Miss  Kirkland  to  share  it  he 
had  not  been  successful.  This  was  partly  his  own 
fault;  for  when  he  dared  to  compare  what  she 
meant  to  him  with  what  he  had  to  offer  her  he  be 
came  a  mass  of  sodden  humility.  Could  he  have 
known  how  much  Polly  Kirkland  envied  and  ad 
mired  his  depth  of  feeling,  entirely  apart  from  the 
fact  that  she  herself  inspired  that  feeling,  how 
greatly  she  wished  to  care  for  him  in  the  way 
he  cared  for  her,  life,  even  alone  in  the  silences 
of  Lone  Lake,  would  have  been  a  beautiful  and 
blessed  thing.  But  he  was  so  sure  she  was  the 
most  charming  and  most  wonderful  girl  in  all  the 
world,  and  he  an  unworthy  and  despicable  being, 
that  when  tho  lady  demurred,  he  faltered,  and  his 
pleading,  at  least  to  his  own  ears,  carried  no  con 
viction. 

77 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"When  one  thinks  of  being  married,"  said 
Polly  Kirkland  gently,  "it  isn't  a  question  of  the 
man  you  can  live  with,  but  the  man  you  can't  live 
without.  And  I  am  sorry,  but  I've  not  found  that 


man." 


"I  suppose,"  returned  Ainsley  gloomily,  "that 
my  not  being  able  to  live  without  you  doesn't  affect 
the  question  in  the  least?" 

"You  have  lived  without  me,"  Miss  Kirkland 
pointed  out  reproachfully,  "for  thirty  years." 

"Lived!"  almost  shouted  Ainsley.  "Do  you 
call  that  living  ?  What  was  I  before  I  met  you  ? 
I  was  an  ignorant  beast  of  the  field.  I  knew  as 
much  about  living  as  one  of  the  cows  on  my  farm. 
I  could  sleep  twelve  hours  at  a  stretch,  or,  if  I  was 
in  New  York,  I  never  slept.  I  was  a  Day  and 
Night  Bank  of  health  and  happiness,  a  great,  big, 
useless  puppy.  And  now  I  can't  sleep,  can't  eat, 
can't  think — except  of  you.  I  dream  about  you  all 
night,  think  about  you  all  day,  go  through  the 
woods  calling  your  name,  cutting  your  initials  in 
tree  trunks,  doing  all  the  fool  things  a  man  does 
when  he's  in  love,  and  I  am  the  most  miserable 
man  in  the  world — and  the  happiest!" 

He  finally  succeeded  in  making  Miss  Kirkland 
so  miserable  also  that  she  decided  to  run  away. 
Friends  had  planned  to  spend  the  early  spring  on 

78 


The  Messengers 

the  Nile  and  were  eager  that  she  should  accompany 
them.  To  her  the  separation  seemed  to  offer  an 
excellent  method  of  discovering  whether  or  not 
Ainsley  was  the  man  she  could  not  "live  without." 

Ainsley  saw  in  it  only  an  act  of  torture,  devised 
with  devilish  cruelty. 

"What  will  happen  to  me/'  he  announced 
firmly,  "is  that  I  will  plain  die!  As  long  as  1  can 
see  you,  as  long  as  I  have  the  chance  to  try  and 
make  you  understand  that  no  one  can  possibly 
love  you  as  I  do,  and  as  long  as  I  know  I  am  wor 
rying  you  to  death,  and  no  one  else  is,  I  still  hope. 
I've  no  right  to  hope,  still  I  do.  And  that  one 
little  chance  keeps  me  alive.  But  Egypt!  If  you 
escape  to  Egypt,  what  hold  will  I  have  on  you  ? 
You  might  as  well  be  in  the  moon.  Can  you 
imagine  me  writing  love-letters  to  a  woman  in  the 
moon  ?  Can  I  send  American  Beauty  roses  to 
the  ruins  of  Karnak  ?  Here  I  can  telephone  you ; 
not  that  I  ever  have  anything  to  say  that  you  want 
to  hear,  but  because  I  want  to  listen  to  your  voice, 
and  to  have  you  ask,  'Oh!  is  that  you?9  as  though 
you  were  glad  it  was  me.  But  Egypt!  Can  I 
call  up  Egypt  on  the  long-distance  ?  If  you  leave 
me  now,  you'll  leave  me  forever,  for  I'll  drown 
myself  in  Lone  Lake." 

The  day  she  sailed  away  he  went  to  the  steamer, 
79 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

and,  separating  her  from  her  friends  and  family, 
drew  her  to  the  side  of  the  ship  farther  from  the 
wharf,  and  which  for  the  moment,  was  deserted. 
Directly  below  a  pile-driver,  with  rattling  of 
chains  and  shrieks  from  her  donkey-engine,  was 
smashing  great  logs;  on  the  deck  above,  the  ship's 
band  was  braying  forth  fictitious  gayety,  and  from 
every  side  they  were  assailed  by  the  raucous 
whistles  of  ferry-boats.  The  surroundings  were 
not  conducive  to  sentiment,  but  for  the  first  time 
Polly  Kirkland  seemed  a  little  uncertain,  a  little 
frightened;  almost  on  the  verge  of  tears,  almost 
persuaded  to  surrender.  For  the  first  time  she 
laid  her  hand  on  Ainsley's  arm,  and  the  shock  sent 
the  blood  to  his  heart  and  held  him  breathless. 
When  the  girl  looked  at  him  there  was  something 
in  her  eyes  that  neither  he  nor  any  other  man  had 
ever  seen  there. 

"The  last  thing  I  tell  you,"  she  said,  "the  thing 
I  want  you  to  remember,  is  this,  that,  though  I  do 
not  care — I  want  to  care." 

Ainsley  caught  at  her  hand  and,  to  the  delight 
of  the  crew  of  a  passing  tug-boat,  kissed  it  rapt 
urously.  His  face  was  radiant.  The  fact  of 
parting  from  her  had  caused  him  real  suffering, 
had  marked  his  face  with  hard  lines.  Now,  hope 
and  happiness  smoothed  them  away  and  his  eyes 

80 


The  Messengers 

shone  with  his  love  for  her.  He  was  trembling, 
laughing,  jubilant. 

"And  if  you  should!"  he  begged.  "How  soon 
will  I  know  ?  You  will  cable,"  he  commanded. 
"You  will  cable  'Come/  and  the  same  hour  I'll 
start  toward  you.  I'll  go  home  now,"  he  cried, 
"and  pack!" 

The  girl  drew  away.  Already  she  regretted  the 
admission  she  had  made.  In  fairness  and  in  kind 
ness  to  him  she  tried  to  regain  the  position  she  had 
abandoned. 

"But  a  change  like  that,"  she  pleaded,  "might 
not  come  for  years,  may  never  come ! "  To  recover 
herself,  to  make  the  words  she  had  uttered  seem 
less  serious,  she  spoke  quickly  and  lightly. 

"And  how  could  I  cable  such  a  thing!"  she  pro 
tested.  "It  would  be  far  too  sacred,  too  precious. 
You  should  be  able  to  feel  that  the  change  has 


come." 


"I  suppose  I  should,"  assented  Ainsley,  doubt 
fully;  "but  it's  a  long  way  across  two  oceans.  It 
would  be  safer  if  you'd  promise  to  use  the  cable. 
Just  one  word:  'Come/" 

The  girl  shook  her  head  and  frowned. 

"If  you  can't  feel  that  the  woman  you  love 
loves  you,  even  across  the  world,  you  cannot  love 
her  very  deeply." 

81 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"I  don't  have  to  answer  that!"  said  Ainsley. 

"I  will  send  you  a  sign,"  continued  the  girl, 
hastily;  "a  secret  wireless  message.  It  shall  be  a 
test.  If  you  love  me  you  will  read  it  at  once.  You 
will  know  the  instant  you  see  it  that  it  comes  from 
me.  No  one  else  will  be  able  to  read  it;  but  if  you 
love  me,  you  will  know  that  I  love  you." 

Whether  she  spoke  in  metaphor  or  in  fact, 
whether  she  was  "playing  for  time,"  or  whether 
in  her  heart  she  already  intended  to  soon  reward 
him  with  a  message  of  glad  tidings,  Ainsley  could 
not  decide.  And  even  as  he  begged  her  to  en 
lighten  him  the  last  whistle  blew,  and  a  determined 
officer  ordered  him  to  the  ship's  side. 

"Just  as  in  everything  that  is  beautiful,"  he 
whispered  eagerly,  "I  always  see  something  of 
you,  so  now  in  everything  wonderful  I  will  read 
your  message.  But,"  he  persisted,  "how  shall  I 
be  surer9 

The  last  bag  of  mail  had  shot  into  the  hold,  the 
most  reluctant  of  the  visitors  were  being  hustled 
down  the  last  remaining  gangplank.  Ainsley's 
state  was  desperate. 

"Will  it  be  in  symbol,  or  in  cipher?"  he  de 
manded.  "Must  I  read  it  in  the  sky,  or  will  you 
hide  it  in  a  letter,  or — where  ?  Help  me !  Give 
me  just  a  hint!" 

82 


The  Messengers 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"You  will  read  it — in  your  heart,"  she  said. 

From  the  end  of  the  wharf  Ainsley  watched  the 
funnels  of  the  ship  disappear  in  the  haze  of  the 
lower  bay.  His  heart  was  sore  and  heavy,  but  in 
it  there  was  still  room  for  righteous  indignation. 
"Read  it  in  my  heart!"  he  protested.  "How 
the  devil  can  I  read  it  in  my  heart  ?  I  want  to 
read  it  printed  in  a  cablegram." 

Because  he  had  always  understood  that  young 
men  in  love  found  solace  for  their  misery  in  solitude 
and  in  communion  with  nature,  he  at  once  drove 
his  car  to  Lone  Lake.  But  his  misery  was  quite 
genuine,  and  the  emptiness  of  the  brick  house 
only  served  to  increase  his  loneliness.  He  had 
built  the  house  for  her,  though  she  had  never 
visited  it,  and  was  associated  with  it  only  through 
the  somewhat  indefinite  medium  of  the  telephone 
box.  But  in  New  York  they  had  been  much 
together.  And  Ainsley  quickly  decided  that  in 
revisiting  those  places  where  he  had  been  happy 
in  her  company  he  would  derive  from  the  recol 
lection  some  melancholy  consolation.  He  accord 
ingly  raced  back  through  the  night  to  the  city;  nor 
did  he  halt  until  he  was  at  the  door  of  her  house. 
She  had  left  it  only  that  morning,  and  though  it 
was  locked  in  darkness,  it  still  spoke  of  her.  At 

83 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

least  it  seemed  to  bring  her  nearer  to  him  than 
when  he  was  listening  to  the  frogs  in  the  lake,  and 
crushing  his  way  through  the  pines. 

He  was  not  hungry,  but  he  went  to  a  restaurant 
where,  when  he  was  host,  she  had  often  been  the 
honored  guest,  and  he  pretended  they  were  at 
supper  together  and  without  a  chaperon.  Either 
the  illusion,  or  the  supper  cheered  him,  for  he  was 
encouraged  to  go  on  to  his  club.  There  in  the 
library,  with  the  aid  of  an  atlas,  he  worked  out 
where,  after  thirteen  hours  of  moving  at  the  rate  of 
twenty-two  knots  an  hour,  she  should  be  at  that 
moment.  Having  determined  that  fact  to  his  own 
satisfaction,  he  sent  a  wireless  after  the  ship.  It 
read:  "It  is  now  midnight  and  you  are  in  latitude 
40°  north,  longitude  68°  west,  and  I  have  grown 
old  and  gray  waiting  for  the  sign." 

The  next  morning,  and  for  many  days  after,  he 
was  surprised  to  find  that  the  city  went  on  as 
though  she  still  were  in  it.  With  unfeeling  regu 
larity  the  sun  rose  out  of  the  East  River.  On 
Broadway  electric-light  signs  flashed,  street-cars 
pursued  each  other,  taxicabs  bumped  and  skidded, 
women,  and  even  men,  dared  to  look  happy,  and 
had  apparently  taken  some  thought  to  their  attire. 
They  did  not  respect  even  his  widowerhood. 
They  smiled  upon  him,  and  asked  him  jocularly 

84 


The  Messengers 

about  the  farm  and  his  "crops,"  and  what  he  was 
doing  in  New  York.  He  pitied  them,  for  obvi 
ously  they  were  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  in  New 
York  there  were  art  galleries,  shops,  restaurants 
of  great  interest,  owing  to  the  fact  that  Polly  Kirk- 
land  had  visited  them.  They  did  not  know  that 
on  upper  Fifth  Avenue  were  houses  of  which  she 
had  deigned  to  approve,  or  which  she  had  de 
stroyed  with  ridicule,  and  that  to  walk  that  ave 
nue  and  halt  before  each  of  these  houses  was  an 
inestimable  privilege. 

Each  day,  with  pathetic  vigilance,  Ainsley  ex 
amined  his  heart  for  the  promised  sign.  But  so 
far  from  telling  him  that  the  change  he  longed  for 
had  taken  place,  his  heart  grew  heavier,  and  as 
weeks  went  by  and  no  sign  appeared,  what  little 
confidence  he  had  once  enjoyed  passed  with  them. 

But  before  hope  entirely  died,  several  false 
alarms  had  thrilled  him  with  happiness.  One 
was  a  cablegram  from  Gibraltar  in  which  the  only 
words  that  were  intelligible  were  "congratulate" 
and  "engagement."  This  lifted  him  into  an 
ecstasy  of  joy  and  excitement,  until,  on  having  the 
cable  company  repeat  the  message,  he  learned  it 
'was  a  request  from  Miss  Kirkland  to  congratulate 
two  mutual  friends  who  had  just  announced  their 
engagement,  and  of  whose  address  she  was  uncer- 

85 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

tain.  He  had  hardly  recovered  from  this  disap 
pointment  than  he  was  again  thrown  into  a  tumult 
by  the  receipt  of  a  mysterious  package  from  the 
custom-house  containing  an  intaglio  ring.  The 
ring  came  from  Italy,  and  her  ship  had  touched  at 
Genoa.  The  fact  that  it  was  addressed  in  an  un 
known  handwriting  did  not  disconcert  him,  for 
he  argued  that  to  make  the  test  more  difficult  she 
might  disguise  the  handwriting.  He  at  once  car 
ried  the  intaglio  to  an  expert  at  the  Metropolitan 
Museum,  and  when  he  was  told  that  it  represented 
Cupid  feeding  a  fire  upon  an  altar,  he  reserved  a 
stateroom  on  the  first  steamer  bound  for  the  Medi 
terranean.  But  before  his  ship  sailed,  a  letter, 
also  from  Italy,  from  his  aunt  Maria,  who  was 
spending  the  winter  in  Rome,  informed  him  that 
the  ring  was  a  Christmas  gift  from  her.  In  his 
rage  he  unjustly  condemned  Aunt  Maria  as  a  med 
dling  old  busybody,  and  gave  her  ring  to  the  cook. 
After  two  months  of  pilgrimages  to  places  sa 
cred  to  the  memory  of  Polly  Kirkland,  Ainsley 
found  that  feeding  his  love  on  post-mortems  was 
poor  fare,  and,  in  surrender,  determined  to  evacu 
ate  New  York.  Since  her  departure  he  had  re 
ceived  from  Miss  Kirkland  several  letters,  but  they 
contained  no  hint  of  a  change  in  her  affections, 
and  search  them  as  he  might,  he  could  find  no 

86 


The  Messengers 

cipher  or  hidden  message.  They  were  merely 
frank,  friendly  notes  of  travel;  at  first  filled  with 
gossip  of  the  steamer,  and  later  telling  of  excur 
sions  around  Cairo.  If  they  held  any  touch  of 
feeling  they  seemed  to  show  that  she  was  sorry  for 
him,  and  as  she  could  not  regard  him  in  any  way 
more  calculated  to  increase  his  discouragement,  he, 
in  utter  hopelessness,  retreated  to  the  solitude  of 
the  farm.  In  New  York  he  left  behind  him  two 
trunks  filled  with  such  garments  as  a  man  would 
need  on  board  a  steamer  and  in  the  early  spring 
in  Egypt.  They  had  been  packed  and  in  readi 
ness  since  the  day  she  sailed  away,  when  she  had 
told  him  of  the  possible  sign.  But  there  had  been 
no  sign.  Nor  did  he  longer  believe  in  one.  So  in 
the  baggage-room  of  an  hotel  the  trunks  were  aban 
doned,  accumulating  layers  of  dust  and  charges 
for  storage. 

At  the  farm  the  snow  still  lay  in  the  crevices  of 
the  rocks  and  beneath  the  branches  of  the  ever 
greens,  but  under  the  wet,  dead  leaves  little  flow 
ers  had  begun  to  show  their  faces.  The  "back 
bone  of  the  winter  was  broken"  and  spring  was  in 
the  air.  But  as  Ainsley  was  certain  that  his  heart 
also  was  broken,  the  signs  of  spring  did  not  con 
sole  him.  At  each  week-end  he  filled  the  house 
with  people,  but  they  found  him  gloomy  and  he 

87 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

found  them  dull.  He  liked  better  the  solitude  of 
the  midweek  days.  Then  for  hours  he  would 
tramp  through  the  woods,  pretending  she  was  at 
his  side,  pretending  he  was  helping  her  across  the 
streams  swollen  with  winter  rains  and  melted  snow. 
On  these  excursions  he  cut  down  trees  that  hid 
a  view  he  thought  she  would  have  liked,  he  cut 
paths  over  which  she  might  have  walked.  Or  he 
sat  idly  in  a  flat-bottomed  scow  in  the  lake  and 
made  a  pretence  of  fishing.  The  loneliness  of  the 
lake  and  the  isolation  of  the  boat  suited  his  humor. 
He  did  not  find  it  true  that  misery  loves  company. 
At  least  to  human  beings  he  preferred  his  com 
panions  of  Lone  Lake — the  beaver  building  his 
home  among  the  reeds,  the  kingfisher,  the  blue 
heron,  the  wild  fowl  that  in  their  flight  north 
rested  for  an  hour  or  a  day  upon  the  peaceful 
waters.  He  looked  upon  them  as  his  guests,  and 
when  they  spread  their  wings  and  left  him  again 
alone  he  felt  he  had  been  hardly  used. 

It  was  while  he  was  sunk  in  this  state  of  mel 
ancholy,  and  some  months  after  Miss  Kirkland 
had  sailed  to  Egypt,  that  hope  returned. 

For  a  week-end  he  had  invited  Holden  and 
Lowell,  two  former  classmates,  and  Nelson  Mor 
timer  and  his  bride.  They  were  all  old  friends 
of  their  host  and  well  acquainted  with  the  cause 

88 


The  Messengers 

of  his  discouragement.  So  they  did  not  ask  to  be 
entertained,  but,  disregarding  him,  amused  them 
selves  after  their  own  fashion.  It  was  late  Friday 
afternoon.  The  members  of  the  house-party  had 
just  returned  from  a  tramp  through  the  woods  and 
had  joined  Ainsley  on  the  terrace,  where  he  stood 
watching  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  leave  the  lake  in> 
darkness.  All  through  the  day  there  had  been 
sharp  splashes  of  rain  with  the  clouds  dull  and 
forbidding,  but  now  the  sun  was  sinking  in  a  sky 
of  crimson,  and  for  the  morrow  a  faint  moon  held 
out  a  promise  of  fair  weather. 

Elsie  Mortimer  gave  a  sudden  exclamation,  and 
pointed  to  the  east.  "Look!"  she  said. 

The  men  turned  and  followed  the  direction  of 
her  hand.  In  the  fading  light,  against  a  back 
ground  of  sombre  clouds  that  the  sun  could  not 
reach,  they  saw,  moving  slowly  toward  them  and 
descending  as  they  moved,  six  great  white  birds, 
When  they  were  above  the  tops  of  the  trees  that 
edged  the  lake,  the  birds  halted  and  hovered  uncer 
tainly,  their  wings  lifting  and  falling,  their  bodies 
slanting  and  sweeping  slowly,  in  short  circles. 

The  suddenness  of  their  approach,  their  presence 
so  far  inland,  something  unfamiliar  and  foreign  in 
the  way  they  had  winged  their  progress,  for  a  mo 
ment  held  the  group  upon  the  terrace  silent. 

89 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"They  are  gulls  from  the  Sound,"  said  Lowell. 

"They  are  too  large  for  gulls,"  returned  Mor 
timer.  "They  might  be  wild  geese,  but,"  he  an 
swered  himself,  in  a  puzzled  voice,  "it  is  too  late; 
and  wild  geese  follow  a  leader." 

As  though  they  feared  the  birds  might  hear 
them  and  take  alarm,  the  men,  unconsciously, 
had  spoken  in  low  tones. 

"They  move  as  though  they  were  very  tired," 
whispered  Elsie  Mortimer. 

"I  think,"  said  Ainsley,  "they  have  lost  their 
way." 

But  even  as  he  spoke,  the  birds,  as  though  they 
had  reached  their  goal,  spread  their  wings  to  the 
full  length  and  sank  to  the  shallow  water  at  the 
farthest  margin  of  the  lake. 

As  they  fell  the  sun  struck  full  upon  them,  turn 
ing  their  great  pinions  into  flashing  white  and 
silver. 

"Oh!"  cried  the  girl,  "but  they  are  beautiful!" 

Between  the  house  and  the  lake  there  was  a 
ridge  of  rock  higher  than  the  head  of  a  man,  and 
to  this  Ainsley  and  his  guests  ran  for  cover.  On 
hands  and  knees,  like  hunters  stalking  game,  they 
scrambled  up  the  face  of  the  rock  and  peered  cau 
tiously  into  the  pond.  Below  them,  less  than  one 
hundred  yards  away,  on  a  tiny  promontory,  the 

90 


"I  think,"  said  Ainsley,  "they  have  lost  their  way" 


The  Messengers 

six  white  birds  stood  motionless.  They  showed 
no  sign  of  fear.  They  could  not  but  know  that 
beyond  the  lonely  circle  of  the  pond  were  the 
haunts  of  men.  From  the  farm  came  the  tinkle  of 
a  cow-bell,  the  bark  of  a  dog,  and  in  the  valley, 
six  miles  distant,  rose  faintly  upon  the  stillness  of 
the  sunset  hour  the  rumble  of  a  passing  train. 
But  if  these  sounds  carried,  the  birds  gave  no  heed. 
In  each  drooping  head  and  dragging  wing,  in  the 
forward  stoop  of  each  white  body,  weighing  heav 
ily  on  the  slim,  black  legs,  was  written  utter  weari 
ness,  abject  fatigue.  To  each  even  to  lower  his 
bill  and  sip  from  the  cool  waters  was  a  supreme 
effort.  And  in  their  exhaustion  so  complete  was 
something  humanly  helpless  and  pathetic. 

To  Ainsley  the  mysterious  visitors  made  a 
direct  appeal.  He  felt  as  though  they  had  thrown 
themselves  upon  his  hospitality.  That  they  showed 
such  confidence  that  the  sanctuary  would  be  kept 
sacred  touched  him.  And  while  his  friends  spoke 
eagerly,  he  remained  silent,  watching  the  droop 
ing,  ghost-like  figures,  his  eyes  filled  with  pity. 

"I  have  seen  birds  like  those  in  Florida,"  Mor 
timer  was  whispering,  "but  they  were  not  migra 
tory  birds." 

"And  I've  seen  white  cranes  in  the  Adiron- 
dacks,"  said  Lowell,  "but  never  six  at  one  time." 

91 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"They're  like  no  bird  I  ever  saw  out  of  a  zoo," 
declared  Elsie  Mortimer.  "Maybe  they  are  from 
the  Zoo  ?  Maybe  they  escaped  from  the  Bronx  ? " 

"The  Bronx  is  too  near/'  objected  Lowell. 
"These  birds  have  come  a  great  distance.  They 
move  as  though  they  had  been  flying  for  many 
days." 

As  though  the  absurdity  of  his  own  thought 
amused  him,  Mortimer  laughed  softly. 

"Til  tell  you  what  they  do  look  like,"  he  said. 
"They  look  like  that  bird  you  see  on  the  Nile,  the 
sacred  Ibis,  they " 

Something  between  a  gasp  and  a  cry  startled 
him  into  silence.  He  found  his  host  staring 
wildly,  his  lips  parted,  his  eyes  open  wide. 

"Where  ?"  demanded  Ainsley.  "Where  did  you 
say?"  His  voice  was  so  hoarse,  so  strange,  that 
they  all  turned  and  looked. 

"On  the  Nile,"  repeated  Mortimer.  "All  over 
Egypt.  Why?" 

Ainsley  made  no  answer.  Unclasping  his  hold, 
he  suddenly  slid  down  the  face  of  the  rock,  and 
with  a  bump  lit  on  his  hands  and  knees.  With 
one  bound  he  had  cleared  a  flower-bed.  In  two 
more  he  had  mounted  the  steps  to  the  terrace, 
and  in  another  instant  had  disappeared  into  the 
house. 

92 


The  Messengers 

"What  happened  to  him?"  demanded  Elsie 
Mortimer. 

"He's  gone  to  get  a  gun!"  exclaimed  Mortimer. 
"But  he  mustn't!  How  can  he  think  of  shooting 
them  ?"  he  cried  indignantly.  "I'll  put  a  stop  to 
that!" 

In  the  hall  he  found  Ainsley  surrounded  by  a 
group  of  startled  servants. 

"You  get  that  car  at  the  door  in  five  minutes!" 
he  was  shouting,  "and  you  telephone  the  hotel  to 
have  my  trunks  out  of  the  cellar  and  on  board  the 
Kron  Prinz  Albert  by  midnight.  Then  you  tele 
phone  Hoboken  that  I  want  a  cabin,  and  if  they 
haven't  got  a  cabin  I  want  the  captain's.  And 
tell  them  anyway  I'm  coming  on  board  to-night, 
and  I'm  going  with  them  if  I  have  to  sleep  on 
deck.  And  you"  he  cried,  turning  to  Mortimer, 
"take  a  shotgun  and  guard  that  lake,  and  if  any 
body  tries  to  molest  those  birds  —  shoot  him! 
They've  come  from  Egypt!  From  Polly  Kirk- 
land!  She  sent  them!  They're  a  sign!" 

"Are  you  going  mad  ?"  cried  Mortimer. 

"No!"  roared  Ainsley.  "I'm  going  to  Egypt, 
and  I'm  going  now!" 

Polly  Kirkland  and  her  friends  were  travelling 
s-lowly  up  the  Nile,  and  had  reached  Luxor.  A  few 
hundred  yards  below  the  village  their  dahabiyeh 

93 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

was  moored  to  the  bank,  and,  on  the  deck,  Miss 
Kirkland  was  watching  a  scarlet  sun  sink  behind 
two  palm-trees.  By  the  grace  of  that  special 
Providence  that  cares  for  drunken  men,  citizens 
of  the  United  States,  and  lovers,  her  friends  were 
on  shore,  and  she  was  alone.  For  this  she  was 
grateful,  for  her  thoughts  were  of  a  melancholy 
and  tender  nature  and  she  had  no  wish  for  any 
companion  save  one.  In  consequence,  when  a 
steam-launch,  approaching  at  full  speed  with  the 
rattle  of  a  quick-firing  gun,  broke  upon  her  medi 
tations,  she  was  distinctly  annoyed. 

But  when,  with  much  ringing  of  bells  and  shout 
ing  of  orders,  the  steam-launch  rammed  the  paint 
off  her  dahabiyeh,  and  a  young  man  flung  himself 
over  the  rail  and  ran  toward  her,  her  annoyance 
passed,  and  with  a  sigh  she  sank  into  his  out 
stretched,  eager  arms. 

Half  an  hour  later  Ainsley  laughed  proudly 
and  happily. 

"Well!"  he  exclaimed,  "you  can  never  say  I 
kept  you  waiting.  I  didn't  lose  much  time,  did  I  ? 
Ten  minutes  after  I  got  your  C.  Q.  D.  signal  I 
was  going  down  the  Boston  Post  Road  at  seventy 
miles  an  hour." 

"My  what  ?"  said  the  girl. 

"The  sign!"  explained  Ainsley.  "The  sign  you 
94 


The  Messengers 

were  to  send  me  to  tell  me" — he  bent  over  her 
hands  and  added  gently — "that  you  cared  for  me." 

"Oh,  I  remember,"  laughed  Polly  Kirkland. 
"I  was  to  send  you  a  sign,  wasn't  I  ?  You  were  to 
'read  it  in  your  heart,'"  she  quoted. 

"And  I  did,"  returned  Ainsley  complacently. 
"There  were  several  false  alarms,  and  I'd  almost 
lost  hope,  but  when  the  messengers  came  I  knew 
them." 

With  puzzled  eyes  the  girl  frowned  and  raised 
her  head. 

"Messengers?"  she  repeated.  "Isent  no  mes 
sage.  Of  course,"  she  went  on,  "when  I  said  you 
would  'read  it  in  your  heart'  I  meant  that  if  you 
really  loved  me  you  would  not  wait  for  a  sign,  but 
you  would  just  come!'9  She  sighed  proudly  and 
contentedly.  "And  you  came.  You  understood 
that,  didn't  you  ?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

For  an  instant  Ainsley  stared  blankly,  and  then 
to  hide  his  guilty  countenance  drew  her  toward 
him  and  kissed  her. 

"Of  course,"  he  stammered — "of  course  I  un 
derstood.  That  was  why  I  came.  I  just  couldn't 
stand  it  any  longer." 

Breathing  heavily  at  the  thought  of  the  blunder 
he  had  so  narrowly  avoided,  Ainsley  turned  his 
head  toward  the  great  red  disk  that  was  disap- 

95 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

pearing  into  the  sands  of  the  desert.  He  was  so 
long  silent  that  the  girl  lifted  her  eyes,  and  found 
that  already  he  had  forgotten  her  presence  and, 
transfixed,  was  staring  at  the  sky.  On  his  face 
was  bewilderment  and  wonder  and  a  touch  of  awe. 
The  girl  followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes,  and  in 
the  swiftly  gathering  darkness  saw  coming  slowly 
toward  them,  and  descending  as  they  came,  six 
great  white  birds. 

They  moved  with  the  last  effort  of  complete 
exhaustion.  In  the  drooping  head  and  dragging 
wings  of  each  was  written  utter  weariness,  abject 
fatigue.  For  a  moment  they  hovered  over  the 
dahabiyeh  and  above  the  two  young  lovers,  and 
then,  like  tired  travellers  who  had  reached  their 
journey's  end,  they  spread  their  wings  and  sank  to 
the  muddy  waters  of  the  Nile  and  into  the  envel 
oping  night. 

"Some  day/'  said  Ainsley,  "I  have  a  confession 
to  make  to  you." 


96 


A  WASTED  DAY 


A  WASTED  DAY 

WHEN  its  turn  came,  the  private  secretary, 
somewhat  apologetically,  laid  the  letter  in 
front  of  the  Wisest  Man  in  Wall  Street. 

"From  Mrs.  Austin,  probation  officer,  Court 
of  General  Sessions,"  he  explained.  "Wants  a 
letter  about  Spear.  He's  been  convicted  of  theft. 
Comes  up  for  sentence  Tuesday." 

"Spear?"  repeated  Arnold  Thorndike. 

"Young  fellow,  stenographer,  used  to  do  your 
letters  last  summer  going  in  and  out  on  the  train." 

The  great  man  nodded.  "I  remember.  What 
about  him  ?" 

The  habitual  gloom  of  the  private  secretary  was 
lightened  by  a  grin. 

"Went  on  the  loose;  had  with  him  about  five 
hundred  dollars  belonging  to  the  firm;  he's  with 
Isaacs  &  Sons  now,  shoe  people  on  Sixth  Avenue. 
Met  a  woman,  and  woke  up  without  the  money. 
The  next  morning  he  offered  to  make  good,  but 
Isaacs  called  in  a  policeman.  When  they  looked 
into  it,  they  found  the  boy  had  been  drunk.  They 
tried  to  withdraw  the  charge,  but  he'd  been  com- 

99 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

mitted.  Now,  the  probation  officer  is  trying  to  get 
the  judge  to  suspend  sentence.  A  letter  from  you, 
sir,  would 

It  was  evident  the  mind  of  the  great  man  was 
elsewhere.  Young  men  who,  drunk  or  sober,  spent 
the  firm's  money  on  women  who  disappeared 
before  sunrise  did  not  appeal  to  him.  Another 
letter  submitted  that  morning  had  come  from  his 
art  agent  in  Europe.  In  Florence  he  had  discov 
ered  the  Correggio  he  had  been  sent  to  find.  It 
was  undoubtedly  genuine,  and  he  asked  to  be  in 
structed  by  cable.  The  price  was  forty  thousand 
dollars.  With  one  eye  closed,  and  the  other  keenly 
regarding  the  inkstand,  Mr.  Thorndike  decided  to 
pay  the  price;  and  with  the  facility  of  long  prac 
tice  dismissed  the  Correggio,  and  snapped  his  mind 
back  to  the  present. 

"  Spear  had  a  letter  from  us  when  he  left,  didn't 
he?"  he  asked.  "What  he  has  developed  into, 
since  he  left  us — "  he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
The  secretary  withdrew  the  letter,  and  slipped 
another  in  its  place. 

"Homer  Firth,  the  landscape  man,"  he  chanted, 
"wants  permission  to  use  blue  flint  on  the  new 
road,  with  turf  gutters,  and  to  plant  silver  firs  each 
side.  Says  it  will  run  to  about  five  thousand 
dollars  a  mile." 


100 


A  Wasted  D^      f  : 


"No!"  protested  the  great  man  firmly,  "blue 
flint  makes  a  country  place  look  like  a  ceme 
tery.  Mine  looks  too  much  like  a  cemetery  now. 
Landscape  gardeners!"  he  exclaimed  impatiently. 
"Their  only  idea  is  to  insult  nature.  The  place 
was  better  the  day  I  bought  it,  when  it  was  run 
ning  wild;  you  could  pick  flowers  all  the  way  to 
the  gates."  Pleased  that  it  should  have  recurred 
to  him,  the  great  man  smiled.  "Why,  Spear,"  he 
exclaimed,  "always  took  in  a  bunch  of  them  for 
his  mother.  Don't  you  remember,  we  used  to 
see  him  before  breakfast  wandering  around  the 
grounds  picking  flowers?"  Mr.  Thorndike  nod 
ded  briskly.  "I  like  his  taking  flowers  to  his 
mother." 

"He  said  it  was  to  his  mother,"  suggested  the 
secretary  gloomily. 

"Well,  he  picked  the  flowers,  anyway,"  laughed 
Mr.  Thorndike.  "He  didn't  pick  our  pockets. 
And  he  had  the  run  of  the  house  in  those  days. 
As  far  as  we  know,"  he  dictated,  "he  was  satis 
factory.  Don't  say  more  than  that." 

The  secretary  scribbled  a  mark  with  his  pencil. 
"And  the  landscape  man  ?" 

"Tell  him,"  commanded  Thorndike,  "I  want  a 
wood  road,  suitable  to  a  farm;  and  to  let  the  trees 
grow  where  God  planted  them." 

IOI 


Once  -Upon  a  Time 

As  his  car  slid  downtown  on  Tuesday  morning 
the  mind  of  Arnold  Thorndike  was  occupied  with 
such  details  of  daily  routine  as  the  purchase  of  a 
railroad,  the  Japanese  loan,  the  new  wing  to  his 
art  gallery,  and  an  attack  that  morning,  in  his  own 
newspaper,  upon  his  pet  trust.  But  his  busy 
mind  was  not  too  occupied  to  return  the  salutes  of 
the  traffic  policemen  who  cleared  the  way  for  him. 
Or,  by  some  genius  of  memory,  to  recall  the  fact 
that  it  was  on  this  morning  young  Spear  was  to 
be  sentenced  for  theft.  It  was  a  charming  morn 
ing.  The  spring  was  at  full  tide,  and  the  air  was 
sweet  and  clean.  Mr.  Thorndike  considered  whim 
sically  that  to  send  a  man  to  jail  with  the  memory 
of  such  a  morning  clinging  to  him  was  adding  a 
year  to  his  sentence.  He  regretted  he  had  not 
given  the  probation  officer  a  stronger  letter.  He 
remembered  the  young  man  now,  and  favorably. 
A  shy,  silent  youth,  deft  in  work,  and  at  other 
times  conscious  and  embarrassed.  But  that,  on 
the  part  of  a  stenographer,  in  the  presence  of  the 
Wisest  Man  in  Wall  Street,  was  not  unnatural. 
On  occasions,  Mr.  Thorndike  had  put  even  roy 
alty — frayed,  impecunious  royalty,  on  the  lookout 
for  a  loan — at  its  ease. 

The  hood  of  the  car  was  down,  and  the  taste  of 
the  air,  warmed  by  the  sun,  was  grateful.  It  was 


IO2 


A  Wasted  Day 

at  this  time,  a  year  before,  that  young  Spear  picked 
the  spring  flowers  to  take  to  his  mother.  A  year 
from  now  where  would  young  Spear  be  ? 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  great  man  to  act 
quickly,  so  quickly  that  his  friends  declared  he 
was  a  slave  to  impulse.  It  was  these  same  im 
pulses,  leading  so  invariably  to  success,  that  made 
his  enemies  call  him  the  Wisest  Man.  He  leaned 
forward  and  touched  the  chauffeur's  shoulder. 
"Stop  at  the  Court  of  General  Sessions,"  he  com 
manded.  What  he  proposed  to  do  would  take  but 
a  few  minutes.  A  word,  a  personal  word  from 
him  to  the  district  attorney,  or  the  judge,  would 
be  enough.  He  recalled  that  a  Sunday  Special 
had  once  calculated  that  the  working  time  of 
Arnold  Thorndike  brought  him  in  two  hundred 
dollars  a  minute.  At  that  rate,  keeping  Spear 
out  of  prison  would  cost  a  thousand  dollars. 

Out  of  the  sunshine  Mr.  Thorndike  stepped  into 
the  gloom  of  an  echoing  rotunda,  shut  in  on  every 
side,  hung  by  balconies,  lit,  many  stories  over 
head,  by  a  dirty  skylight.  The  place  was  damp, 
the  air  acrid  with  the  smell  of  stale  tobacco  juice, 
and  foul  with  the  presence  of  many  unwashed 
humans.  A  policeman,  chewing  stolidly,  nodded 
toward  an  elevator  shaft,  and  other  policemen 

103 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

nodded  him  further  on  to  the  office  of  the  district 
attorney.  There  Arnold  Thorndike  breathed  more 
freely.  He  was  again  among  his  own  people.  He 
could  not  help  but  appreciate  the  dramatic  quali 
ties  of  the  situation;  that  the  richest  man  in  Wall 
Street  should  appear  in  person  to  plead  for  a  hum 
ble  and  weaker  brother.  He  knew  he  could  not 
escape  recognition,  his  face  was  too  well  known, 
but,  he  trusted,  for  the  sake  of  Spear,  the  reporters 
would  make  no  display  of  his  visit.  With  a  dep 
recatory  laugh,  he  explained  why  he  had  come. 
But  the  outburst  of  approbation  he  had  antici 
pated  did  not  follow. 

The  district  attorney  ran  his  finger  briskly  down 
a  printed  card.  "Henry  Spear,"  he  exclaimed, 
"that's  your  man.  Part  Three,  Judge  Fallen.  An 
drews  is  in  that  court."  He  walked  to  the  door 
of  his  private  office.  "Andrews!"  he  called. 

He  introduced  an  alert,  broad-shouldered  young 
man  of  years  of  much  indiscretion  and  with  a 
charming  and  inconsequent  manner. 

"Mr.  Thorndike  is  interested  in  Henry  Spear, 
coming  up  for  sentence  in  Part  Three  this  morning. 
Wants  to  speak  for  him.  Take  him  over  with  you." 

The  district  attorney  shook  hands  quickly,  and 
retreated  to  his  private  office.  Mr.  Andrews  took 
out  a  cigarette  and,  as  he  crossed  the  floor,  lit  it. 

104 


A  Wasted  Day 

"Come  with  me,"  he  commanded.  Somewhat 
puzzled,  slightly  annoyed,  but  enjoying  withal  the 
novelty  of  the  environment  and  the  curtness  of  his 
reception,  Mr.  Thorndike  followed.  He  decided 
that,  in  his  ignorance,  he  had  wasted  his  own 
time  and  that  of  the  prosecuting  attorney.  He 
should  at  once  have  sent  in  his  card  to  the  judge. 
As  he  understood  it,  Mr.  Andrews  was  now  con 
ducting  him  to  that  dignitary,  and,  in  a  moment, 
he  would  be  free  to  return  to  his  own  affairs,  which 
were  the  affairs  of  two  continents.  But  Mr.  An 
drews  led  him  to  an  office,  bare  and  small,  and 
offered  him  a  chair,  and  handed  him  a  morning 
newspaper.  There  were  people  waiting  in  the 
room;  strange  people,  only  like  those  Mr.  Thorn- 
dike  had  seen  on  ferry-boats.  They  leaned  for 
ward  toward  young  Mr.  Andrews,  fawning,  their 
eyes  wide  with  apprehension. 

Mr.  Thorndike  refused  the  newspaper.  "I 
thought  I  was  going  to  see  the  judge,"  he  sug 
gested. 

"Court  doesn't  open  for  a  few  minutes  yet," 
said  the  assistant  district  attorney.  u  Judge  is 
always  late,  anyway." 

Mr.  Thorndike  suppressed  an  exclamation.  He 
wanted  to  protest,  but  his  clear  mind  showed  him 
that  there  was  nothing  against  which,  with  reason, 

105 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

he  could  protest.  He  could  not  complain  because 
these  people  were  not  apparently  aware  of  the  sac 
rifice  he  was  making.  He  had  come  among  them 
to  perform  a  kindly  act.  He  recognized  that  he 
must  not  stultify  it  by  a  show  of  irritation.  He 
had  precipitated  himself  into  a  game  of  which  he 
did  not  know  the  rules.  That  was  all.  Next 
time  he  would  know  better.  Next  time  he  would 
send  a  clerk.  But  he  was  not  without  a  sense  of 
humor,  and  the  situation  as  it  now  was  forced 
upon  him  struck  him  as  amusing.  He  laughed 
good-naturedly  and  reached  for  the  desk  tele 
phone. 

"May  I  use  this  ?"  he  asked.  He  spoke  to  the 
Wall  Street  office.  He  explained  he  would  be  a 
few  minutes  late.  He  directed  what  should  be 
done  if  the  market  opened  in  a  certain  way.  He 
gave  rapid  orders  on  many  different  matters,  asked 
to  have  read  to  him  a  cablegram  he  expected  from 
Petersburg,  and  one  from  Vienna. 

"They  answer  each  other,"  was  his  final  instruc 
tion.  "It  looks  like  peace." 

Mr.  Andrews  with  genial  patience  had  remained 
silent.  Now  he  turned  upon  his  visitors.  A  Le 
vantine,  burly,  unshaven,  and  soiled,  towered  truc 
ulently  above  him.  Young  Mr.  Andrews  with  his 
swivel  chair  tilted  back,  his  hands  clasped  behind 

106 


A  Wasted  Day 

his  head,  his  cigarette  hanging  from  his  lips,  re 
garded  the  man  dispassionately. 

"You  gotta  hell  of  a  nerve  to  come  to  see  me," 
he  commented  cheerfully.  To  Mr.  Thorndike, 
the  form  of  greeting  was  novel.  So  greatly  did  it 
differ  from  the  procedure  of  his  own  office,  that  he 
listened  with  interest. 

"Was  it  you/'  demanded  young  Andrews,  in  a 
puzzled  tone,  "or  your  brother  who  tried  to  knife 
me?"  Mr.  Thorndike,  unaccustomed  to  cross 
the  pavement  to  his  office  unless  escorted  by  bank 
messengers  and  plain-clothes  men,  felt  the  room 
growing  rapidly  smaller;  the  figure  of  the  truculent 
Greek  loomed  to  heroic  proportions.  The  hand 
of  the  banker  went  vaguely  to  his  chin,  and  from 
there  fell  to  his  pearl  pin,  which  he  hastily  covered. 

"Get  out!"  said  young  Andrews,  "and  don't 
show  your  face  here " 

The  door  slammed  upon  the  flying  Greek. 
Young  Andrews  swung  his  swivel  chair  so  that, 
over  his  shoulder,  he  could  see  Mr.  Thorndike. 
"I  don't  like  his  face,"  he  explained. 

A  kindly  eyed,  sad  woman  with  a  basket  on  her 
knee  smiled  upon  Andrews  with  the  familiarity  of 
an  old  acquaintance. 

"Is  that  woman  going  to  get  a  divorce  from  my 
son,"  she  asked,  "now  that  he's  in  trouble  ?" 

107 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"Now  that  he's  in  Sing  Sing?"  corrected  Mr. 
Andrews.  "I  hope  so!  She  deserves  it.  That 
son  of  yours,  Mrs.  Bernard,"  he  declared  emphat 
ically,  "is  no  good!" 

The  brutality  shocked  Mr.  Thorndike.  For  the 
woman  he  felt  a  thrill  of  sympathy,  but  at  once 
saw  that  it  was  superfluous.  From  the  secure  and 
lofty  heights  of  motherhood,  Mrs.  Bernard  smiled 
down  upon  the  assistant  district  attorney  as  upon 
a  naughty  child.  She  did  not  even  deign  a  pro 
test.  She  continued  merely  to  smile.  The  smile 
reminded  Thorndike  of  the  smile  on  the  face  of  a 
mother  in  a  painting  by  Murillo  he  had  lately  pre 
sented  to  the  chapel  in  the  college  he  had  given 
to  his  native  town. 

"That  son  of  yours,"  repeated  young  Andrews, 
"is  a  leech.  He's  robbed  you,  robbed  his  wife. 
Best  thing  I  ever  did  for  you  was  to  send  him  up 
the  river." 

The  mother  smiled  upon  him  beseechingly. 

"Could  you  give  me  a  pass  ?"  she  said. 

Young  Andrews  flung  up  his  hands  and  ap 
pealed  to  Thorndike. 

"Isn't  that  just  like  a  mother?"  he  protested. 
"That  son  of  hers  has  broken  her  heart,  tramped 
on  her,  cheated  her;  hasn't  left  her  a  cent;  and 
she  comes  to  me  for  a  pass,  so  she  can  kiss  him 

108 


to 
a 

§ 


A  Wasted  Day 

through  the  bars!  And  I'll  bet  she's  got  a  cake 
for  him  in  that  basket!" 

The  mother  laughed  happily;  she  knew  now  she 
would  get  the  pass. 

"Mothers,"  explained  Mr.  Andrews,  from  the 
depth  of  his  wisdom,  "are  all  like  that;  your 
mother,  my  mother.  If  you  went  to  jail,  your 
mother  would  be  just  like  that." 

Mr.  Thorndike  bowed  his  head  politely.  He 
had  never  considered  going  to  jail,  or  whether, 
if  he  did,  his  mother  would  bring  him  cake  in  a 
basket.  Apparently  there  were  many  aspects  and 
accidents  of  life  not  included  in  his  experience. 

Young  Andrews  sprang  to  his  feet,  and,  with 
the  force  of  a  hose  flushing  a  gutter,  swept  his 
soiled  visitors  into  the  hall. 

"Come  on,"  he  called  to  the  Wisest  Man,  "the 
court  is  open." 

In  the  corridors  were  many  people,  and  with  his 
eyes  on  the  broad  shoulders  of  the  assistant  dis 
trict  attorney,  Thorndike  pushed  his  way  through 
them.  The  people  who  blocked  his  progress  were 
of  the  class  unknown  to  him.  Their  looks  were 
anxious,  furtive,  miserable.  They  stood  in  little 
groups,  listening  eagerly  to  a  sharp-faced  lawyer, 
or,  in  sullen  despair,  eying  each  other.  At  a  door 

109 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

a  tipstaff  laid  his  hand  roughly  on  the  arm  of  Mr. 
Thorndike. 

"That's  all  right,  Joe,"  called  young  Mr.  An 
drews,  "he's  with  me!'  They  entered  the  court 
and  passed  down  an  aisle  to  a  railed  enclosure 
in  which  were  high  oak  chairs.  Again,  in  his 
effort  to  follow,  Mr.  Thorndike  was  halted,  but 
the  first  tipstaff  came  to  his  rescue.  "All  right," 
he  signalled,  "he's  with  Mr.  Andrews." 

Mr.  Andrews  pointed  to  one  of  the  oak  chairs. 
"You  sit  there,"  he  commanded,  "it's  reserved 
for  members  of  the  bar,  but  it's  all  right.  You're 
with  me!' 

Distinctly  annoyed,  slightly  bewildered,  the 
banker  sank  between  the  arms  of  a  chair.  He 
felt  he  had  lost  his  individuality.  Andrews  had 
become  his  sponsor.  Because  of  Andrews  he  was 
tolerated.  Because  Andrews  had  a  pull  he  was 
permitted  to  sit  as  an  equal  among  police-court 
lawyers.  No  longer  was  he  Arnold  Thorndike. 
He  was  merely  the  man  "with  Mr.  Andrews." 

Then  even  Andrews  abandoned  him.  "The 
judge'll  be  here  in  a  minute,  now,"  said  the  assist 
ant  district  attorney,  and  went  inside  a  railed 
enclosure  in  front  of  the  judge's  bench.  There 
he  greeted  another  assistant  district  attorney 
whose  years  'were  those  of  even  greater  indiscre- 

no 


A  Wasted  Day 

tion  than  the  years  of  Mr.  Andrews.  Seated  on 
the  rail,  with  their  hands  in  their  pockets  and 
their  backs  turned  to  Mr.  Thorndike,  they  laughed 
and  talked  together.  The  subject  of  their  dis 
course  was  one  Mike  Donlin,  as  he  appeared  in 
vaudeville. 

To  Mr.  Thorndike  it  was  evident  that  young 
Andrews  had  entirely  forgotten  him.  He  arose, 
and  touched  his  sleeve.  With  infinite  sarcasm 
Mr.  Thorndike  began:  "My  engagements  are  not 
pressing,  but " 

A  court  attendant  beat  with  his  palm  upon  the 
rail. 

"Sit  down!"  whispered  Andrews.  "The  judge 
is  coming." 

Mr.  Thorndike  sat  down. 

The  court  attendant  droned  loudly  words  Mr. 
Thorndike  could  not  distinguish.  There  was  a 
rustle  of  silk,  and  from  a  door  behind  him  the 
judge  stalked  past.  He  was  a  young  man,  the 
type  of  the  Tammany  politician.  On  his  shrewd, 
alert,  Irish-American  features  was  an  expression 
of  unnatural  gloom.  With  a  smile  Mr.  Thornd.ke 
observed  that  it  was  as  little  suited  to  the  counte 
nance  of  the  young  judge  as  was  the  robe  to  his 
shoulders.  Mr.  Thorndike  was  still  smiling  when 
young  Andrews  leaned  over  the  rail. 

in 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"Stand  up!"  he  hissed.  Mr.  Thorndike  stood 
up. 

After  the  court  attendant  had  uttered  more 
unintelligible  words,  every  one  sat  down;  and 
the  financier  again  moved  hurriedly  to  the  rail. 

"I  would  like  to  speak  to  him  now  before  he 
begins,"  he  whispered.  "I  can't  wait." 

Mr.  Andrews  stared  in  amazement.  The  bank 
er  had  not  believed  the  young  man  could  look  so 
serious. 

"Speak  to  him,  now!"  exclaimed  the  district 
attorney.  "You've  got  to  wait  till  your  man 
comes  up.  If  you  speak  to  the  judge,  now — " 
The  voice  of  Andrews  faded  away  in  horror. 

Not  knowing  in  what  way  he  had  offended, 
but  convinced  that  it  was  only  by  the  grace  of 
Andrews  he  had  escaped  a  dungeon,  Mr.  Thorn- 
dike  retreated  to  his  arm-chair. 

The  clock  on  the  wall  showed  him  that,  al 
ready,  he  had  given  to  young  Spear  one  hour  and 
a  quarter.  The  idea  was  preposterous.  No  one 
better  than  himself  knew  what  his  time  was  really 
worth.  In  half  an  hour  there  was  a  board  meet 
ing;  later,  he  was  to  hold  a  post  mortem  on  a  rail 
road;  at  every  moment  questions  were  being  asked 
by  telegraph,  by  cable,  questions  that  involved 

112 


A  Wasted  Day 

the  credit  of  individuals,  of  firms,  of  even  the 
country.  And  the  one  man  who  could  answer 
them  was  risking  untold  sums  only  that  he  might 
say  a  good  word  for  an  idle  apprentice.  Inside 
the  railed  enclosure  a  lawyer  was  reading  a  type 
written  speech.  He  assured  his  honor  that  he 
must  have  more  time  to  prepare  his  case.  It  was. 
one  of  immense  importance.  The  name  of  a 
most  respectable  business  house  was  involved, 
and  a  sum  of  no  less  than  nine  hundred  dollars. 
Nine  hundred  dollars!  The  contrast  struck  Mr. 
Thorndike's  sense  of  humor  full  in  the  centre. 
Unknowingly,  he  laughed,  and  found  himself  as 
conspicuous  as  though  he  had  appeared  suddenly 
in  his  night-clothes.  The  tipstaffs  beat  upon  the 
rail,  the  lawyer  he  had  interrupted  utered  an 
indignant  exclamation,  Andrews  came  hurriedly 
toward  him,  and  the  young  judge  slowly  turned 
his  head. 

"Those  persons,"  he  said,  "who  cannot  respect 
the  dignity  of  this  court  will  leave  it."  As  he 
spoke,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  those  of  Mr.  Thorn- 
dike,  the  latter  saw  that  the  young  judge  had  sud 
denly  recognized  him.  But  the  fact  of  his  iden 
tity  did  not  cause  the  frown  to  relax  or  the  rebuke 
to  halt  unuttered.  In  even,  icy  tones  the  judge 
continued:  "And  it  is  well  they  should  remember 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

that  the  law  is  no  respecter  of  persons  and  that 
the  dignity  of  this  court  will  be  enforced,  no  mat 
ter  who  the  offender  may  happen  to  be." 

Andrews  slipped  into  the  chair  beside  Mr. 
Thorndike,  and  grinned  sympathetically. 

"Sorry!"  he  whispered.  "Should  have  warned 
you.  We  won't  be  long  now,"  he  added  encour 
agingly.  "As  soon  as  this  fellow  finishes  his 
argument,  the  judge'll  take  up  the  sentences. 
Your  man  seems  to  have  other  friends;  Isaacs 
&  Sons  are  here,  and  the  type-writer  firm  who 
taught  him;  but  what  you  say  will  help  most.  It 
won't  be  more  than  a  couple  of  hours  now." 

"A  couple  of  hours!"  Mr.  Thorndike  raged 
inwardly.  A  couple  of  hours  in  this  place  where 
he  had  been  publicly  humiliated.  He  smiled,  a 
thin,  shark-like  smile.  Those  who  made  it  their 
business  to  study  his  expressions,  on  seeing  it, 
would  have  fled.  Young  Andrews,  not  being 
acquainted  with  the  moods  of  the  great  man, 
added  cheerfully:  "By  one  o'clock,  anyway." 

Mr.  Thorndike  began  grimly  to  pull  on  his 
gloves.  For  all  he  cared  now  young  Spear  could 
go  hang.  Andrews  nudged  his  elbow. 

"See  that  old  lady  in  the  front  row  ?"  he  whis 
pered.  "That's  Mrs.  Spear.  What  did  I  tell 
you;  mothers  are  all  alike.  She's  not  taken  her 

114 


A  Wasted  Day 

eyes  off  you  since  court  opened.  She  knows 
you're  her  one  best  bet." 

Impatiently  Mr.  Thorndike  raised  his  head. 
He  saw  a  little,  white-haired  woman  who  stared  at 
him.  In  her  eyes  was  the  same  look  he  had  seen 
in  the  eyes  of  men  who,  at  times  of  panic,  fled 
to  him,  beseeching,  entreating,  forcing  upon  him 
what  was  left  of  the  wreck  of  their  fortunes,  if  only 
he  would  save  their  honor. 

"And  here  come  the  prisoners,"  Andrews  whis 
pered.  "See  Spear?  Third  man  from  the  last." 
A  long  line,  guarded  in  front  and  rear,  shuffled 
into  the  court-room,  and,  as  ordered,  ranged  them 
selves  against  the  wall.  Among  them  were  old  men 
and  young  boys,  well  dressed,  clever-looking  ras 
cals,  collarless  tramps,  fierce-eyed  aliens,  smooth- 
shaven,  thin-lipped  Broadwayards — and  Spear. 

Spear,  his  head  hanging,  with  lips  white  and 
cheeks  ashen,  and  his  eyes  heavy  with  shame. 

Mr.  Thorndike  had  risen,  and,  in  farewell,  was 
holding  out  his  hand  to  Andrews.  He  turned, 
and  across  the  court-room  the  eyes  of  the  finan 
cier  and  the  stenographer  met.  At  the  sight  of 
the  great  man,  Spear  flushed  crimson,  and  then  his 
look  of  despair  slowly  disappeared;  and  into  his 
eyes  there  came  incredulously  hope  and  gratitude. 
He  turned  his  head  suddenly  to  the  wall. 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

Mr.  Thorndike  stood  irresolute,  and  then  sank 
back  into  his  chair. 

The  first  man  in  the  line  was  already  at  the  rail 
ing,  and  the  questions  put  to  him  by  the  judge 
were  being  repeated  to  him  by  the  other  assistant 
district  attorney  and  a  court  attendant.  His  mut 
tered  answers  were  in  turn  repeated  to  the  judge. 

"Says  he's  married,  naturalized  citizen,  Luth 
eran  Church,  die-cutter  by  profession." 

The  probation  officer,  her  hands  filled  with  pa 
pers,  bustled  forward  and  whispered. 

"Mrs.  Austin  says,"  continued  the  district  at 
torney,  "she's  looked  into  this  case,  and  asks  to 
have  the  man  turned  over  to  her.  He  has  a  wife 
and  three  children;  has  supported  them  for  five 
years." 

"Is  the  wife  in  court?"  the  judge  said. 

A  thin,  washed-out,  pretty  woman  stood  up, 
and  clasped  her  hands  in  front  of  her. 

"Has  this  man  been  a  good  husband  to  you, 
madam  ?"  asked  the  young  judge. 

The  woman  broke  into  vehement  assurances. 
No  man  could  have  been  a  better  husband.  Would 
she  take  him  back  ?  Indeed  she  would  take  him 
back.  She  held  out  her  hands  as  though  she 
would  physically  drag  her  husband  from  the 
pillory. 

116 


O 

H 


A  Wasted  Day 

The  judge  bowed  toward  the  probation  officer, 
and  she  beckoned  the  prisoner  to  her. 

Other  men  followed,  and  in  the  fortune  of  each 
Mr.  Thorndike  found  himself,  to  his  surprise, 
taking  a  personal  interest.  It  was  as  good  as  a 
play.  It  reminded  him  of  the  Sicilians  he  had 
seen  in  London  in  their  little  sordid  tragedies. 
Only  these  actors  were  appearing  in  their  proper 
persons  in  real  dramas  of  a  life  he  did  not  know, 
but  which  appealed  to  something  that  had  been 
long  untouched,  long  in  disuse.  It  was  an  uncom 
fortable  sensation  that  left  him  restless  because, 
as  he  appreciated,  it  needed  expression,  an  out 
let.  He  found  this,  partially,  in  praising,  through 
Andrews,  the  young  judge  who  had  publicly 
rebuked  him.  Mr.  Thorndike  found  him  astute, 
sane;  his  queries  intelligent,  his  comments  just. 
And  this  probation  officer,  she,  too,  was  capable, 
was  she  not  ?  Smiling  at  his  interest  in  what  to 
him  was  an  old  story,  the  younger  man  nodded. 

"I  like  her  looks,"  whispered  the  great  man. 
"Like  her  clear  eyes  and  clean  skin.  She  strikes 
me  as  able,  full  of  energy,  and  yet  womanly. 
These  men  when  they  come  under  her  charge," 
he  insisted,  eagerly,  "need  money  to  start  again, 
don't  they?"  He  spoke  anxiously.  He  believed 
he  had  found  the  clew  to  his  restlessness.  It  was 

117 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

a  desire  to  help;  to  be  of  use  to  these  failures  who 
had  fallen  and  who  were  being  lifted  to  their  feet. 
Andrews  looked  at  him  curiously.  "Anything 
you  give  her,"  he  answered,  "would  be  well  in 
vested." 

"If  you  will  tell  me  her  name  and  address?" 
whispered  the  banker.  He  was  much  given  to 
charity,  but  it  had  been  perfunctory,  it  was  ex 
tended  on  the  advice  of  his  secretary.  In  help 
ing  here,  he  felt  a  genial  glow  of  personal  pleas 
ure.  It  was  much  more  satisfactory  than  giving 
an  Old  Master  to  his  private  chapel. 

In  the  rear  of  the  court-room  there  was  a  scuffle 
that  caused  every  one  to  turn  and  look.  A  man, 
who  had  tried  to  force  his  way  past  the  tipstaffs, 
was  being  violently  ejected,  and,  as  he  disap 
peared,  he*  waved  a  paper  toward  Mr.  Thorndike. 
The  banker  recognized  him  as  his  chief  clerk. 
Andrews  rose  anxiously.  "That  man  wanted  to 
get  to  you.  Pll  see  wha-u  it  is.  Maybe  it's  im 
portant." 

Mr.  Thorndike  pulled  him  back. 

"Maybe  it  is,"  he  said  dryly.  "But  I  can't 
see  him  now,  I'm  busy." 

Slowly  the  long  line  of  derelicts,  of  birds  of 
prey,  of  sorry,  weak  failures,  passed  before  the 

118 


A  Wasted  Day 

seat  of  judgment.  Mr.  Thorndike  had  moved 
into  a  chair  nearer  to  the  rail,  and  from  time  to 
time  made  a  note  upon  the  back  of  an  envelope. 
He  had  forgotten  the  time  or  had  chosen  to  dis 
regard  it.  So  great  was  his  interest  that  he  had 
forgotten  the  particular  derelict  he  had  come  to 
serve,  until  Spear  stood  almost  at  his  elbow. 

Thorndike  turned  eagerly  to  the  judge,  and 
saw  that  he  was  listening  to  a  rotund,  gray  little 
man  with  beady,  bird-like  eyes  who,  as  he  talked, 
bowed  and  gesticulated.  Behind  him  stood  a 
younger  man,  a  more  modern  edition  of  the  other. 
He  also  bowed  and,  behind  gold  eye-glasses,  smiled 
ingratiatingly. 

The  judge  nodded,  and  leaning  forward,  for  a 
few  moments  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  prisoner. 

"You  are  a  very  fortunate  young  man/'  he 
said.  He  laid  his  hand  upon  a  pile  of  letters. 
"When  you  were  your  own  worst  enemy,  your 
friends  came  to  help  you.  These  letters  speak 
for  you;  your  employers,  whom  you  robbed,  have 
pleaded  with  me  in  your  favor.  It  is  urged, 
in  your  behalf,  that  at  the  time  you  committed 
the  crime  of  which  you  are  found  guilty,  you 
were  intoxicated.  In  the  eyes  of  the  law,  that  is 
no  excuse.  Some  men  can  drink  and  keep  their 
senses.  It  appears  you  can  not.  When  you 

119 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

drink  you  are  a  menace  to  yourself — and,  as  is 
shown  by  this  crime,  to  the  community.  There 
fore,  you  must  not  drink.  In  view  of  the  good 
character  to  which  your  friends  have  testified, 
and  on  the  condition  that  you  do  not  touch  liquor, 
I  will  not  sentence  you  to  jail,  but  will  place  you 
in  charge  of  the  probation  officer." 

The  judge  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  beck 
oned  to  Mr.  Andrews.  It  was  finished.  Spear 
was  free,  and  from  different  parts  of  the  court 
room  people  were  moving  toward  the  door.  Their 
numbers  showed  that  the  friends  of  the  young 
man  had  been  many.  Mr.  Thorndike  felt  a  cer 
tain  twinge  of  disappointment.  Even  though  the 
result  relieved  and  pleased  him,  he  wished,  in 
bringing  it  about,  he  had  had  some  part. 

He  begrudged  to  Isaacs  &  Sons  the  credit  of 
having  given  Spear  his  liberty.  His  morning 
had  been  wasted.  He  had  neglected  his  own 
interests,  and  in  no  way  assisted  those  of  Spear. 
He  was  moving  out  of  the  railed  enclosure  when 
Andrews  called  him  by  name. 

"His  honor,"  he  said  impressively,  "wishes  to 
speak  to  you." 

The  judge  leaned  over  his  desk  and  shook  Mr. 
Thorndike  by  the  hand.  Then  he  made  a  speech. 
The  speech  was  about  public-spirited  citizens  who, 

1 20 


A  Wasted  Day 

to  the  neglect  of  their  own  interests,  came  to  as 
sist  the  ends  of  justice,  and  fellow-creatures  in 
misfortune.  He  purposely  spoke  in  a  loud  voice, 
and  every  one  stopped  to  listen. 

"The  law,  Mr.  Thorndike,  is  not  vindictive," 
he  said.  "It  wishes  only  to  be  just.  Nor  can  it 
be  swayed  by  wealth  or  political  or  social  influ 
ences.  But  when  there  is  good  in  a  man,  I,  per 
sonally,  want  to  know  it,  and  when  gentlemen 
like  yourself,  of  your  standing  in  this  city,  come 
here  to  speak  a  good  word  for  a  man,  we  would 
stultify  the  purpose  of  justice  if  we  did  not  listen. 
I  thank  you  for  coming,  and  I  wish  more  of  our 
citizens  were  as  unselfish  and  public-spirited." 

It  was  all  quite  absurd  and  most  embarrassing, 
but  inwardly  Mr.  Thorndike  glowed  with  pleas 
ure.  It  was  a  long  time  since  any  one  had  had 
the  audacity  to  tell  him  he  had  done  well.  From 
the  friends  of  Spear  there  was  a  ripple  of  applause, 
which  no  tipstaff  took  it  upon  himself  to  suppress, 
and  to  the  accompaniment  of  this,  Mr.  Thorndike 
walked  to  the  corridor.  He  was  pleased  with  him 
self  and  with  his  fellow-men.  He  shook  hands 
with  Isaacs  &  Sons,  and  congratulated  them 
upon  their  public  spirit,  and  the  type-writer  firm 
upon  their  public  spirit.  And  then  he  saw  Spear 
standing  apart  regarding  him  doubtfully. 

121 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

Spear  did  not  offer  his  hand,  but  Mr.  Thorn- 
dike  took  it,  and  shook  it,  and  said:  "I  want  to 
meet  your  mother." 

And  when  Mrs.  Spear  tried  to  stop  sobbing 
long  enough  to  tell  him  how  happy  she  was,  and 
how  grateful,  he  instead  told  her  what  a  fine  son 
she  had,  and  that  he  remembered  when  Spear 
used  to  carry  flowers  to  town  for  her.  And  she 
remembered  it,  too,  and  thanked  him  for  the 
flowers.  And  he  told  Spear,  when  Isaacs  & 
Sons  went  bankrupt,  which  at  the  rate  they  were 
giving  away  their  money  to  the  Hebrew  Hospital 
would  be  very  soon,  Spear  must  come  back  to 
him.  And  Isaacs  &  Sons  were  delighted  at  the 
great  man's  pleasantry,  and  afterward  repeated  it 
many  times,  calling  upon  each  other  to  bear  wit 
ness,  and  Spear  felt  as  though  some  one  had  given 
him  a  new  backbone,  and  Andrews,  who  was 
guiding  Thorndike  out  of  the  building,  was  think 
ing  to  himself  what  a  great  confidence  man  had 
been  lost  when  Thorndike  became  a  banker. 

The  chief  clerk  and  two  bank  messengers  were 
waiting  by  the  automobile  with  written  calls  for 
help  from  the  office.  They  pounced  upon  the 
banker  and  almost  lifted  him  into  the  car. 

"There's  still  time!"  panted  the  chief  clerk. 

122 


A  Wasted  Day 

"There  is  not!"  answered  Mr.  Thorndike.  His 
tone  was  rebellious,  defiant.  It  carried  all  the  au 
thority  of  a  spoiled  child  of  fortune.  "I've  wasted 
most  of  this  day,"  he  declared,  "and  I  intend  to 
waste  the  rest  of  it.  Andrews,"  he  called,  "jump 
in,  and  I'll  give  you  a  lunch  at  Sherry's." 

The  vigilant  protector  of  the  public  dashed  back 
into  the  building. 

"Wait  till  I  get  my  hat!"  he  called. 

As  the  two  truants  rolled  up  the  avenue  the 
spring  sunshine  warmed  them,  the  sense  of  duties 
neglected  added  zest  to  their  holiday,  and  young 
Mr.  Andrews  laughed  aloud. 

Mr.  Thorndike  raised  his  eyebrows  inquiringly. 

"I  was  wondering,"  said  Andrews,  "how  much 
it  cost  you  to  keep  Spear  out  of  jail  ?" 

"I  don't  care,"  said  the  great  man  guiltily;  "it 
was  worth  it." 


123 


A  CHARMED  LIFE 


A  CHARMED  LIFE 

SHE   loved  him   so,  that  when  he  went  away 
to  a  little  war  in  which  his  country  was  inter 
ested  she  could  not  understand,  nor  quite  forgive. 

As  the  correspondent  of  a  newspaper,  Chester 
ton  had  looked  on  at  other  wars;  when  the  yellow 
races  met,  when  the  infidel  Turk  spanked  the 
Christian  Greek;  and  one  he  had  watched  from 
inside  a  British  square,  where  he  was  greatly 
alarmed  lest  he  should  be  trampled  upon  by  ter 
rified  camels.  This  had  happened  before  he  and 
she  had  met.  After  they  met,  she  told  him  that 
what  chances  he  had  chosen  to  take  before  he 
came  into  her  life  fell  outside  of  her  jurisdiction. 
But  now  that  his  life  belonged  to  her,  this  talk  of 
his  standing  up  to  be  shot  at  was  wicked.  It  was 
worse  than  wicked;  it  was  absurd. 

When  the  Maine  sank  in  Havana  harbor  and 
the  word  "war"  was  appearing  hourly  in  hysteri 
cal  extras,  Miss  Armitage  explained  her  position. 

"You  mustn't  think/'  she  said,  "that  I  am 
one  of  those  silly  girls  who  would  beg  you  not  to 
go  to  war." 

127 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

At  the  moment  of  speaking  her  cheek  hap 
pened  to  be  resting  against  his,  and  his  arm  was 
about  her,  so  he  humbly  bent  his  head  and  kissed 
her,  and  whispered  very  proudly  and  softly,  "No, 
dearest." 

At  which  she  withdrew  from  him  frowning. 

"No!  I'm  not  a  bit  like  those  girls,"  she  pro 
claimed.  "I  merely  tell  you  you  cant  go!  My 
gracious!"  she  cried,  helplessly.  She  knew  the 
words  fell  short  of  expressing  her  distress,  but 
her  education  had  not  supplied  her  with  excla 
mations  of  greater  violence. 

"My  goodness!"  she  cried.  "How  can  you 
frighten  me  so  ?  It's  not  like  you,"  she  re 
proached  him.  "You  are  so  unselfish,  so  noble. 
You  are  always  thinking  of  other  people.  How 
can  you  talk  of  going  to  war — to  be  killed — to 
me  ?  And  now,  now  that  you  have  made  me 
love  you  so  ? " 

The  hands,  that  when  she  talked  seemed  to 
him  like  swallows  darting  and  flashing  in  the 
sunlight,  clutched  his  sleeve.  The  fingers,  that 
he  would  rather  kiss  than  the  lips  of  any  other 
woman  that  ever  lived,  clung  to  his  arm.  Their 
clasp  reminded  him  of  that  of  a  drowning  child 
he  had  once  lifted  from  the  surf. 

"If  you  should  die,"  whispered  Miss  Armitage. 
"What  would  I  do.  What  would  I  do!" 

128 


A  Charmed  Life 

"But  my  dearest,"  cried  the  young  man.  "My 
dearest  one!  I've  got  to  go.  It's  our  own  war. 
Everybody  else  will  go,"  he  pleaded.  "Every 
man  you  know,  and  they're  going  to  fight,  too. 
I'm  going  only  to  look  on.  That's  bad  enough, 
isn't  it,  without  sitting  at  home  ?  You  should 
be  sorry  I'm  not  going  to  fight." 

"Sorry!"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "If  you  love 
me " 

"If  I  love  you,"  shouted  the  young  man.  His 
voice  suggested  that  he  was  about  to  shake  her. 
"How  dare  you  r" 

She  abandoned  that  position  and  attacked  from 
one  more  logical. 

"But  why  punish  me?"  she  protested.  "Do 
7  want  the  war  ?  Do  /  want  to  free  Cuba  ?  No ! 
I  want  you,  and  if  you  go,  you  are  the  one  who 
is  sure  to  be  killed.  You  are  so  big — and  so 
brave,  and  you  will  be  rushing  in  wherever  the 
fighting  is,  and  then — then  you  will  die."  She 
raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him  as  though 
seeing  him  from  a  great  distance.  "And,"  she 
added  fatefully,  "I  will  die,  too,  or  maybe  I  will 
have  to  live,  to  live  without  you  for  years,  for 
many  miserable  years." 

Fearfully,  with  great  caution,  as  though  in  his 
joy  in  her  he  might  crush  her  in  his  hands,  the 
young  man  drew  her  to  him  and  held  her  close. 

129 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

After  a  silence  he  whispered.  "But,  you  know 
that  nothing  can  happen  to  me.  Not  now,  that 
God  has  let  me  love  you.  He  could  not  be  so 
cruel.  He  would  not  have  given  me  such  happiness 
to  take  it  from  me.  A  man  who  loves  you,  as  I 
love  you,  cannot  come  to  any  harm.  And  the  man 
you  love  is  immortal,  immune.  He  holds  a  charmed 
life.  So  long  as  you  love  him,  he  must  live." 

The  eyes  of  the  girl  smiled  up  at  him  through 
her  tears.  She  lifted  her  lips  to  his.  "Then  you 
will  never  die!"  she  said. 

She  held  him  away  from  her.  "Listen!"  she 
whispered.  "What  you  say  is  true.  It  must  be 
true,  because  you  are  always  right.  I  love  you 
so  that  nothing  can  harm  you.  My  love  will 
be  a  charm.  It  will  hang  around  your  neck 
and  protect  you,  and  keep  you,  and  bring  you 
back  to  me.  When  you  are  in  danger  my  love 
will  save  you.  For,  while  it  lives,  I  live.  When 
it  dies " 

Chesterton  kissed  her  quickly. 

"What  happens  then,"  he  said,  "doesn't  mat- 


ter." 


The  war  game  had  run  its  happy-go-lucky 
course  briefly  and  brilliantly,  with  "glory  enough 
for  all,"  even  for  Chesterton.  For,  in  no  previous 
campaign  had  good  fortune  so  persistently  stood 


130 


A  Charmed  Life 

smiling  at  his  elbow.  At  each  moment  of  the 
war  that  was  critical,  picturesque,  dramatic,  by 
some  lucky  accident  he  found  himself  among 
those  present.  He  could  not  lose.  Even  when 
his  press  boat  broke  down  at  Cardenas,  a  Yankee 
cruiser  and  two  Spanish  gun-boats,  apparently 
for  his  sole  benefit,  engaged  in  an  impromptu 
duel  within  range  of  his  megaphone.  When  his 
horse  went  lame,  the  column  with  which  he  had 
wished  to  advance,  passed  forward  to  the  front 
unmolested,  while  the  rear  guard,  to  which  he  had 
been  forced  to  join  his  fortune,  fought  its  way 
through  the  stifling  underbrush. 

Between  his  news  despatches,  when  he  was  not 
singing  the  praises  of  his  fellow-countrymen,  or 
copying  lists  of  their  killed  and  wounded,  he  wrote 
to  Miss  Armitage.  His  letters  were  scrawled  on 
yellow  copy  paper  and  consisted  of  repetitions  of 
the  three  words,  "I  love  you,"  rearranged,  illu 
minated,  and  intensified. 

Each  letter  began  much  in  the  same  way. 
"The  war  is  still  going  on.  You  can  read  about 
it  in  the  papers.  What  I  want  you  to  know  is 
that  I  love  you  as  no  man  ever — "  And  so  on  for 
many  pages. 

From  her  only  one  of  the  letters  she  wrote 
reached  him.  It  was  picked  up  in  the  sand  at 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

Siboney  after  the  medical  corps,  in  an  effort  to 
wipe  out  the  yellow-fever,  had  set  fire  to  the  post- 
office  tent. 

She  had  written  it  some  weeks  before  from 
her  summer  home  at  Newport,  and  in  it  she  said: 
"When  you  went  to  the  front,  I  thought  no  wom 
an  could  love  more  than  I  did  then.  But,  now 
I  know.  At  least  I  know  one  girl  who  can.  She 
cannot  write  it.  She  can  never  tell  you.  You 
must  just  believe. 

"Each  day  I  hear  from  you,  for  as  soon  as  the 
paper  comes,  I  take  it  down  to  the  rocks  and 
read  your  cables,  and  I  look  south  across  the 
ocean  to  Cuba,  and  try  to  see  you  in  all  that 
fighting  and  heat  and  fever.  But  I  am  not  afraid. 
For  each  morning  I  wake  to  find  I  love  you  more; 
that  it  has  grown  stronger,  more  wonderful,  more 
hard  to  bear.  And  I  know  the  charm  I  gave  you 
grows  with  it,  and  is  more  powerful,  and  that  it 
will  bring  you  back  to  me  wearing  new  honors, 
'  bearing  your  sheaves  with  you.' 

"As  though  I  cared  for  your  new  honors.  I 
want  you,  you,  you — only  you" 

When  Santiago  surrendered  and  the  invading 
army  settled  down  to  arrange  terms  of  peace,  and 
imbibe  fever,  and  General  Miles  moved  to  Porto 
Rico,  Chesterton  moved  with  him. 

132 


A  Charmed  Life 

In  that  pretty  little  island  a  command  of  regu 
lars  under  a  general  of  the  regular  army  had,  in  a 
night  attack,  driven  back  the  Spaniards  from 
Adhuntas.  The  next  afternoon  as  the  column 
was  in  line  of  march,  and  the  men  were  shaking 
themselves  into  their  accoutrements,  a  dusty, 
sweating  volunteer  staff  officer  rode  down  the 
main  street  of  Adhuntas,  and  with  the  authority 
of  a  field  marshal,  held  up  his  hand. 

"General  Miles's  compliments,  sir,"  he  panted, 
"and  peace  is  declared!" 

Different  men  received  the  news  each  in  a  dif 
ferent  fashion.  Some  whirled  their  hats  in  the 
air  and  cheered.  Those  who  saw  promotion  and 
the  new  insignia  on  their  straps  vanish,  swore 
deeply.  Chesterton  fell  upon  his  saddle-bags  and 
began  to  distribute  his  possessions  among  the 
enlisted  men.  After  he  had  remobilized,  his 
effects  consisted  of  a  change  of  clothes,  his  cam 
era,  water-bottle,  and  his  medicine  case.  In  his 
present  state  of  health  and  spirits  he  could  not 
believe  he  stood  in  need  of  the  medicine  case, 
but  it  was  a  gift  from  Miss  Armitage,  and  car 
ried  with  it  a  promise  from  him  that  he  always 
would  carry  it.  He  had  "packed"  it  throughout 
the  campaign,  and  for  others  it  had  proved  of 
value. 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"I  take  it  you  are  leaving  us,"  said  an  officer 
enviously. 

"I  am  leaving  you  so  quick,"  cried  Chester 
ton  laughing,  "that  you  won't  even  see  the  dust. 
There's  a  transport  starts  from  Mayaguez  at 
six  to-morrow  morning,  and,  if  I  don't  catch  it, 
this  pony  will  die  on  the  wharf." 

"The  road  to  Mayaguez  is  not  healthy  for 
Americans,"  said  the  general  in  command.  "I 
don't  think  I  ought  to  let  you  go.  The  enemy 
does  not  know  peace  is  on  yet,  and  there  are  a  lot 
of  guerillas " 

Chesterton  shook  his  head  in  pitying  wonder. 

"Not  let  me  go!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why,  Gene 
ral,  you  haven't  enough  men  in  your  command 
to  stop  me,  and  as  for  the  Spaniards  and  gue 
rillas — !  I'm  homesick,"  cried  the  young  man. 
"I'm  so  damned  homesick  that  I  am  liable  to 
die  of  it  before  the  transport  gets  me  to  Sandy 
Hook." 

"If  you  are  shot  up  by  an  outpost,"  growled 
the  general,  "you  will  be  worse  off  than  home 
sick.  It's  forty  miles  to  Mayaguez.  Better  wait 
till  daylight.  Where's  the  sense  of  dying,  after 
the  fighting's  over?" 

"If  I  don't  catch  that  transport  I  sure  will 
die,"  laughed  Chesterton.  His  head  was  bent  and 


A  Charmed  Life 

he  was  tugging  at  his  saddle  girths.  Apparently 
the  effort  brought  a  deeper  shadow  to  his  tan, 
"but  nothing  else  can  kill  me!  I  have  a  charm, 
General/'  he  exclaimed. 

"We  hadn't  noticed  it,"  said  the  general. 

The  staff  officers,  according  to  regulations, 
laughed. 

"It's  not  that  kind  of  a  charm,"  said  Ches 
terton.  "Good-by,  General." 

The  road  was  hardly  more  than  a  trail,  but 
the  moon  made  it  as  light  as  day,  and  cast  across 
it  black  tracings  of  the  swinging  vines  and  creep 
ers;  while  high  in  the  air  it  turned  the  polished 
surface  of  the  palms  into  glittering  silver.  As  he 
plunged  into  the  cool  depths  of  the  forest  Ches 
terton  threw  up  his  arms  and  thanked  God  that 
he  was  moving  toward  her.  The  luck  that  had 
accompanied  him  throughout  the  campaign  had 
held  until  the  end.  Had  he  been  forced  to  wait 
for  a  transport,  each  hour  would  have  meant 
a  month  of  torment,  an  arid,  wasted  place  in  his 
life.  As  it  was,  with  each  eager  stride  of  El 
Capitan,  his  little  Porto  Rican  pony,  he  was 
brought  closer  to  her.  He  was  so  happy  that  as 
he  galloped  through  the  dark  shadows  of  the 
jungle  or  out  into  the  brilliant  moonlight  he 
shouted  aloud  and  sang;  and  again  as  he  urged 

1.35 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

El  Capitan  to  greater  bursts  of  speed,  he  explained 
in  joyous,  breathless  phrases  why  it  was  that  he 
urged  him  on. 

"For  she  is  wonderful  and  most  beautiful/' 
he  cried,  "the  most  glorious  girl  in  all  the  world! 
And,  if  I  kept  her  waiting,  even  for  a  moment, 
El  Capitan,  I  would  be  unworthy — and  I  might 
lose  her!  So  you  see  we  ride  for  a  great  prize!" 

The  Spanish  column  that,  the  night  before,  had 
been  driven  from  Adhuntas,  now  in  ignorance  of 
peace,  occupied  both  sides  of  the  valley  through 
which  ran  the  road  to  Mayaguez,  and  in  ambush 
by  the  road  itself  had  placed  an  outpost  of  two 
men.  One  was  a  sharp-shooter  of  the  picked 
corps  of  the  Guardia  Civile,  and  one  a  sergeant 
of  the  regiment  that  lay  hidden  in  the  heights. 
If  the  Americans  advanced  toward  Mayaguez, 
these  men  were  to  wait  until  the  head  of  the 
column  drew  abreast  of  them,  when  they  were  to 
fire.  The  report  of  their  rifles  would  be  the  signal 
for  those  in  the  hill  above  to  wipe  out  the  memory 
of  Adhuntas. 

Chesterton  had  been  riding  at  a  gallop,  but, 
as  he  reached  the  place  where  the  men  lay  in 
ambush,  he  pulled  El  Capitan  to  a  walk,  and  took 
advantage  of  his  first  breathing  spell  to  light  his 
pipe.  He  had  already  filled  it,  and  was  now 

136 


A  Charmed  Life 

fumbling  in  his  pocket  for  his  match-box.  The 
match-box  was  of  wood  such  as  one  can  buy, 
filled  to  the  brim  with  matches,  for  one  penny. 
But  it  was  a  most  precious  possession.  In  the 
early  days  of  his  interest  in  Miss  Armitage,  as 
they  were  once  setting  forth  upon  a  motor  trip, 
she  had  handed  it  to  him. 

"Why,"  he  asked. 

"You  always  forget  to  bring  any,"  she  said 
simply,  "and  have  to  borrow  some." 

The  other  men  in  the  car,  knowing  this  to  be 
a  just  reproof,  laughed  sardonically,  and  at  the 
laugh  the  girl  had  looked  up  in  surprise.  Chester 
ton,  seeing  the  look,  understood  that  her  act, 
trifling  as  it  was,  had  been  sincere,  had  been  in 
spired  simply  by  thought  of  his  comfort.  And  he 
asked  himself  why  young  Miss  Armitage  should 
consider  his  comfort,  and  why  the  fact  that  she 
did  consider  it  should  make  him  so  extremely 
happy.  And  he  decided  it  must  be  because  she 
loved  him  and  he  loved  her. 

Having  arrived  at  that  conclusion,  he  had 
asked  her  to  marry  him,  and  upon  the  match-box 
had  marked  the  date  and  the  hour.  Since  then 
she  had  given  him  many  pretty  presents,  marked 
with  her  initials,  marked  with  his  crest,  with 
strange  cabalistic  mottoes  that  meant  nothing  to 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

any  one  save  themselves.     But  the  wooden  match 
box  was  still  the  most  valued  of  his  possessions. 

As  he  rode  into  the  valley  the  rays  of  the  moon 
fell  fully  upon  him,  and  exposed  him  to  the  out 
post  as  pitilessly  as  though  he  had  been  held  in 
the  circle  of  a  search-light. 

The  bronzed  Mausers  pushed  cautiously  through 
the  screen  of  vines.  There  was  a  pause,  and  the 
rifle  of  the  sergeant  wavered.  When  he  spoke  his 
tone  was  one  of  disappointment. 

"He  is  a  scout,  riding  alone,"  he  said. 

"He  is  an  officer,"  returned  the  sharp-shooter, 
excitedly.  "The  others  follow.  We  should  fire 
now  and  give  the  signal." 

"He  is  no  officer,  he  is  a  scout,"  repeated  the 
sergeant.  "They  have  sent  him  ahead  to  study 
the  trail  and  to  seek  us.  He  may  be  a  league  in 
advance.  If  we  shoot  hlmy  we  only  warn  the 
others." 

Chesterton  was  within  fifty  yards.  After  an 
excited  and  anxious  search  he  had  found  the 
match-box  in  the  wrong  pocket.  The  eyes  of  the 
sharp-shooter  frowned  along  the  barrel  of  his  rifle. 
With  his  chin  pressed  against  the  stock  he  whis 
pered  swiftly  from  the  corner  of  his  lips,  "He  is  an 
officer!  I  am  aiming  where  the  strap  crosses  his 
heart.  You  aim  at  his  belt.  We  fire  together." 

138 


A  Charmed  Life 

The  heat  of  the  tropic  night  and  the  strenu 
ous  gallop  had  covered  El  Capitan  with  a  lather 
of  sweat.  The  reins  upon  his  neck  dripped 
with  it.  The  gauntlets  with  which  Chesterton 
held  them  were  wet.  As  he  raised  the  match 
box  it  slipped  from  his  fingers  and  fell  noiselessly 
in  the  trail.  With  an  exclamation  he  dropped 
to  the  road  and  to  his  knees,  and  groping  in  the 
dust  began  an  eager  search. 

The  sergeant  caught  at  the  rifle  of  the  sharp 
shooter,  and  pressed  it  down. 

"Look!"  he  whispered.  "He  is  a  scout.  He 
is  searching  the  trail  for  the  tracks  of  our  ponies. 
If  you  fire  they  will  hear  it  a  league  away." 

"But  if  he  finds  our  trail  and  returns " 

The  sergeant  shook  his  head.  "I  let  him  pass 
forward,"  he  said  grimly.  "He  will  never  return." 

Chesterton  pounced  upon  the  half-buried  match 
box,  and  in  a  panic  lest  he  might  again  lose  it, 
thrust  it  inside  his  tunic. 

"Little  do  you  know,  El  Capitan,"  he  exclaimed 
breathlessly,  as  he  scrambled  back  into  the  sad 
dle  and  lifted  the  pony  into  a  gallop,  "what  a 
narrow  escape  I  had.  I  almost  lost  it." 

Toward  midnight  they  came  to  a  wooden 
bridge  swinging  above  a  ravine  in  which  a  moun 
tain  stream,  forty  feet  below,  splashed  over  half- 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

hidden  rocks,  and  the  stepping  stones  of  the  ford. 
Even  before  the  campaign  began  the  bridge  had 
outlived  its  usefulness,  and  the  unwonted  burden  of 
artillery,  and  the  vibrations  of  marching  men  had 
so  shaken  it  that  it  swayed  like  a  house  of  cards. 
Threatened  by  its  own  weight,  at  the  mercy  of  the 
first  tropic  storm,  it  hung  a  death  trap  for  the 
one  who  first  added  to  its  burden. 

No  sooner  had  El  Capitan  struck  it  squarely 
with  his  four  hoofs,  than  he  reared  and,  whirling, 
sprang  back  to  the  solid  earth.  The  sudden 
ness  of  his  retreat  had  all  but  thrown  Chester 
ton,  but  he  regained  his  seat,  and  digging  the 
pony  roughly  with  his  spurs,  pulled  his  head 
again  toward  the  bridge. 

"What  are  you  shying  at,  now?"  he  panted. 
"That's  a  perfectly  good  bridge." 

For  a  minute  horse  and  man  struggled  for  the 
mastery,  the  horse  spinning  in  short  circles,  the 
man  pulling,  tugging,  urging  him  with  knees  and 
spurs.  The  first  round  ended  in  a  draw.  There 
were  two  more  rounds  with  the  advantage  slightly 
in  favor  of  El  Capitan,  for  he  did  not  approach 
the  bridge. 

The  night  was  warm  and  the  exertion  violent. 
Chesterton,  puzzled  and  annoyed,  paused  to  re 
gain  his  breath  and  his  temper.  Below  him,  in 

140 


A  Charmed  Life 

the  ravine,  the  shallow  waters  of  the  ford  called 
to  him,  suggesting  a  pleasant  compromise.  He 
turned  his  eyes  downward  and  saw  hanging  over 
the  water  what  appeared  to  be  a  white  bird  upon 
the  lower  limb  of  a  dead  tree.  He  knew  it  to  be 
an  orchid,  an  especially  rare  orchid,  and  he  knew, 
also,  that  the  orchid  was  the  favorite  flower  of 
Miss  Armitage.  In  a  moment  he  was  on  his  feet, 
and  with  the  reins  over  his  arm,  was  slipping 
down  the  bank,  dragging  El  Capitan  behind  him. 
He  ripped  from  the  dead  tree  the  bark  to  which 
the  orchid  was  clinging,  and  with  wet  moss  and 
grass  packed  it  in  his  leather  camera  case.  The 
camera  he  abandoned  on  the  path.  He  always 
could  buy  another  camera;  he  could  not  again 
carry  a  white  orchid,  plucked  in  the  heart  of  the 
tropics  on  the  night  peace  was  declared,  to  the 
girl  he  left  behind  him.  Followed  by  El  Capi 
tan,  nosing  and  snuffing  gratefully  at  the  cool 
waters,  he  waded  the  ford,  and  with  his  camera 
case  swinging  from  his  shoulder,  galloped  up  the 
opposite  bank  and  back  into  the  trail. 

A  minute  later,  the  bridge,  unable  to  recover 
from  the  death  blow  struck  by  El  Capitan,  went 
whirling  into  the  ravine  and  was  broken  upon  the 
rocks  below.  Hearing  the  crash  behind  him,  Ches 
terton  guessed  that  in  the  jungle  a  tree  had  fallen. 

141 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

They  had  started  at  six  in  the  afternoon  and 
had  covered  twenty  of  the  forty  miles  that  lay 
between  Adhuntas  and  Mayaguez,  when,  just  at 
the  outskirts  of  the  tiny  village  of  Caguan,  El 
Capitan  stumbled,  and  when  he  arose  painfully, 
he  again  fell  forward. 

Caguan  was  a  little  church,  a  little  vine-cov 
ered  inn,  a  dozen  one-story  adobe  houses  shining 
in  the  moonlight  like  whitewashed  sepulchres. 
They  faced  a  grass-grown  plaza,  in  the  centre  of 
which  stood  a  great  wooden  cross.  At  one  cor 
ner  of  the  village  was  a  corral,  and  in  it  many 
ponies.  At  the  sight  Chesterton  gave  a  cry  of 
relief.  A  light  showed  through  the  closed  shut 
ters  of  the  inn,  and  when  he  beat  with  his  whip 
upon  the  door,  from  the  adobe  houses  other 
lights  shone,  and  white-clad  figures  appeared  in 
the  moonlight.  The  landlord  of  the  inn  was  a 
Spaniard,  fat  and  prosperous-looking,  but  for  the 
moment  his  face  was  eloquent  with  such  distress 
and  misery  that  the  heart  of  the  young  man,  who 
was  at  peace  with  all  the  world,  went  instantly 
out  to  him.  The  Spaniard  was  less  sympathetic. 
When  he  saw  the  khaki  suit  and  the  campaign 
hat  he  scowled,  and  ungraciously  would  have 
closed  the  door.  Chesterton,  apologizing,  pushed 
it  open.  His  pony,  he  explained,  had  gone  lame, 

142 


A  Charmed  Life 

and  he  must  have  another,  and  at  once.  The 
landlord  shrugged  his  shoulders.  These  were  war 
times,  he  said,  and  the  American  officer  could 
take  what  he  liked.  They  in  Caguan  were  non- 
combatants  and  could  not  protest.  Chesterton 
hastened  to  reassure  him.  The  war,  he  an 
nounced,  was  over,  and  were  it  not,  he  was  no 
officer  to  issue  requisitions.  He  intended  to  pay 
for  the  pony.  He  unbuckled  his  belt  and  poured 
upon  the  table  a  handful  of  Spanish  doubloons. 
The  landlord  lowered  the  candle  and  silently 
counted  the  gold  pieces,  and  then  calling  to  him 
two  of  his  fellow-villagers,  crossed  the  tiny  plaza 
and  entered  the  corral. 

"The  American  pig,"  he  whispered,  "wishes  to 
buy  a  pony.  He  tells  me  the  war  is  over;  that 
Spain  has  surrendered.  We  know  that  must  be 
a  lie.  It  is  more  probable  he  is  a  deserter.  He 
claims  he  is  a  civilian,  but  that  also  is  a  lie,  for 
he  is  in  uniform.  You,  Paul,  sell  him  your  pony, 
and  then  wait  for  him  at  the  first  turn  in  the 
trail,  and  take  it  from  him." 

"He  is  armed,"  protested  the  one  called  Paul. 

"You  must  not  give  him  time  to  draw  his  revol 
ver,"  ordered  the  landlord.  "You  and  Pedro 
will  shoot  him  from  the  shadow.  He  is  our  coun 
try's  enemy,  and  it  will  be  in  a  good  cause.  And 

143 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

he  may  carry  despatches.     If  we  take  them  to 
the    commandante  at  Mayaguez  he  will   reward 


us/' 


"And  the  gold  pieces?"  demanded  the  one 
called  Paul. 

"We  will  divide  them  in  three  parts,"  said  the 
landlord. 

In  the  front  of  the  inn,  surrounded  by  a  ghost 
like  group  that  spoke  its  suspicions,  Chesterton 
was  lifting  his  saddle  from  Ei  Capitan  and  rub 
bing  the  lame  foreleg.  It  was  not  a  serious 
sprain.  A  week  would  set  it  right,  but  for  that 
night  the  pony  was  useless.  Impatiently,  Ches 
terton  called  across  the  plaza,  begging  the  land 
lord  to  make  haste.  He  was  eager  to  be  gone, 
alarmed  and  fearful  lest  even  this  slight  delay 
should  cause  him  to  miss  the  transport.  The 
thought  was  intolerable.  But  he  was  also  acutely 
conscious  that  he  was  very  hungry,  and  he  was 
too  old  a  campaigner  to  scoff  at  hunger.  With 
the  hope  that  he  could  find  something  to  carry 
with  him  and  eat  as  he  rode  forward,  he  entered 
the  inn. 

The  main  room  of  the  house  was  now  in  dark 
ness,  but  a  smaller  room  adjoining  it  was  lit  by 
candles,  and  by  a  tiny  taper  floating  before  a 
crucifix.  In  the  light  of  the  candles  Chesterton 

144 


A  Charmed  Life 

made  out  a  bed,  a  priest  bending  over  it,  a  wom 
an  kneeling  beside  it,  and  upon  the  bed  the 
little  figure  of  a  boy  who  tossed  and  moaned. 
As  Chesterton  halted  and  waited  hesitating,  the 
priest  strode  past  him,  and  in  a  voice  dull  and 
flat  with  grief  and  weariness,  ordered  those  at 
the  door  to  bring  the  landlord  quickly.  As  one 
of  the  group  leaped  toward  the  corral,  the  priest 
said  to  the  others:  "There  is  another  attack.  I 
have  lost  hope." 

Chesterton  advanced  and  asked  if  he  could  be 
of  service.  The  priest  shook  his  head.  The 
child,  he  said,  was  the  only  son  of  the  landlord, 
and  much  beloved  by  him,  and  by  all  the  village. 
He  was  now  in  the  third  week  of  typhoid  fever 
and  the  period  of  hemorrhages.  Unless  they 
could  be  checked,  the  boy  would  die,  and  the 
priest,  who  for  many  miles  of  mountain  and 
forest  was  also  the  only  doctor,  had  exhausted  his 
store  of  simple  medicines. 

"Nothing  can  stop  the  hemorrhage,"  he  pro 
tested  wearily,  "but  the  strongest  of  drugs.  And 
I  have  nothing!" 

Chesterton  bethought  him  of  the  medicine  case 
Miss  Armitage  had  forced  upon  him.  "I  have 
given  opium  to  the  men  for  dysentery,"  he  said. 
"Would  opium  help  you  ?" 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

The  priest  sprang  at  him  and  pushed  him  out 
of  the  door  and  toward  the  saddle-bags. 

"My  children,"  he  cried,  to  the  silent  group 
in  the  plaza,  "God  has  sent  a  miracle!" 

After  an  hour  at  the  bedside  the  priest  said, 
"He  will  live/'  and  knelt,  and  the  mother  of  the 
boy  and  the  villagers  knelt  with  him.  When 
Chesterton  raised  his  eyes,  he  found  that  the 
landlord,  who  had  been  silently  watching  while 
the  two  men  struggled  with  death  for  the  life  of 
his  son,  had  disappeared.  But  he  heard,  leaving 
the  village  along  the  trail  to  Mayaguez,  the  sud 
den  clatter  of  a  pony's  hoofs.  It  moved  like  a 
thing  driven  with  fear. 

The  priest  strode  out  into  the  moonlight.  In 
the  recovery  of  the  child  he  saw  only  a  demon 
stration  of  the  efficacy  of  prayer,  and  he  could 
not  too  quickly  bring  home  the  lesson  to  his 
parishioners.  Amid  their  murmurs  of  wonder 
and  gratitude  Chesterton  rode  away.  To  the 
kindly  care  of  the  priest  he  bequeathed  El  Capi- 
tan.  With  him,  also,  he  left  the  gold  pieces 
which  were  to  pay  for  the  fresh  pony. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  outside  the  village  three 
white  figures  confronted  him.  Two  who  stood 
apart  in  the  shadow  shrank  from  observation, 
but  the  landlord,  seated  bareback  upon  a  pony 

146 


A  Charmed  Life 

that  from  some  late  exertion  was  breathing  heav 
ily,  called  to  him  to  halt. 

"In  the  fashion  of  my  country,"  he  began 
grandiloquently,  "we  have  come  this  far  to  wish 
you  God  speed  upon  your  journey/'  In  the 
fashion  of  the  American  he  seized  Chesterton  by 
the  hand.  "I  thank  you,  senor,"  he  murmured. 

"Not  me,"  returned  Chesterton.  "But  the  one 
who  made  me  'pack'  that  medicine  chest.  Thank 
her,  for  to-night  I  think  it  saved  a  life. 

The  Spaniard  regarded  him  curiously,  fixing; 
him  with  his  eyes  as  though  deep  in  considera 
tion.  At  last  he  smiled  gravely. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said.  "Let  us  both  re 
member  her  in  our  prayers." 

As  Chesterton  rode  away  the  words  remained' 
gratefully  in  his  memory  and  filled  him  with 
pleasant  thoughts.  "The  world,"  he  mused,  "is 
full  of  just  such  kind  and  gentle  souls." 

After  an  interminable  delay  he  reached  New 
port,  and  they  escaped  from  the  others,  and  Miss 
Armitage  and  he  ran  down  the  lawn  to  the  rocks, 
and  stood  with  the  waves  whispering  at  their  feet. 

It  was  the  moment  for  which  each  had  so  often; 
longed,  with  which  both  had  so  often  tortured 
themselves  by  living  in  imagination,  that 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

that  it  was  theirs,  they  were  fearful  it  might  not 
be  true. 

Finally,  he  said:  "And  the  charm  never  failed! 
Indeed,  it  was  wonderful!  It  stood  by  me  so 
obviously.  For  instance,  the  night  before  San 
Juan,  in  the  mill  at  El  Poso,  I  slept  on  the  same 
poncho  with  another  correspondent.  I  woke  up 
with  a  raging  appetite  for  bacon  and  coffee,  and 
he  woke  up  out  of  his  mind,  and  with  a  tempera 
ture  of  one  hundred  and  four.  And  again,  I  was 
standing  by  Capron's  gun  at  El  Caney,  when  a 
shell  took  the  three  men  who  served  it,  and  only 
scared  me.  And  there  was  another  time — 7  He 
stopped.  "Anyway,"  he  laughed,  "here  I  am." 

"But  there  was  one  night,  one  awful  night," 
began  the  girl.  She  trembled,  and  he  made  this 
an  added  excuse  for  drawing  her  closer  to  him. 
"When  I  felt  you  were  in  great  peril,  that  you 
would  surely  die.  And  all  through  the  night  I 
knelt  by  the  window  and  looked  toward  Cuba 
and  prayed,  and  prayed  to  God  to  let  you 
live." 

Chesterton  bent  his  head  and  kissed  the  tips  of 
her  fingers.  After  a  moment  he  said:  "Would 
you  know  what  night  it  was  ?  It  might  be  curi 
ous  if  I  had  been ' 

"Would  I  know!"  cried  the  girl.  "It  was 
148 


A  Charmed  Life 

eight  days  ago.     The  night  of  the  twelfth.     An 
awful  night!" 

"The  twelfth!"  exclaimed  Chesterton,  and 
laughed  and  then  begged  her  pardon  humbly. 
"I  laughed  because  the  twelfth,"  he  exclaimed, 
"was  the  night  peace  was  declared.  The  war 
was  over.  I'm  sorry,  but  that  night  I  was  riding 
toward  you,  thinking  only  of  you.  I  was  never 
for  a  moment  in  danger." 


149 


THE  AMATEUR 


THE  AMATEUR 

I 

IT  was  February  ofF  the  Banks,  and  so  thick 
was  the  weather  that,  on  the  upper  decks, 
one  could  have  driven  a  sleigh.  Inside  the 
smoking-room  Austin  Ford,  as  securely  sheltered 
from  the  blizzard  as  though  he  had  been  sitting 
in  front  of  a  wood  fire  at  his  club,  ordered  hot 
gin  for  himself  and  the  ship's  doctor.  The 
ship's  doctor  had  gone  below  on  another  "hurry 
call"  from  the  widow.  At  the  first  luncheon 
on  board  the  widow  had  sat  on  the  right  of  Doc 
tor  Sparrow,  with  Austin  Ford  facing  her.  But 
since  then,  except  to  the  doctor,  she  had  been 
invisible.  So,  at  frequent  intervals,  the  ill  health 
of  the  widow  had  deprived  Ford  of  the  society 
of  the  doctor.  That  it  deprived  him,  also,  of  the 
society  of  the  widow  did  not  concern  him.  Her 
life  had  not  been  spent  upon  ocean  liners;  she- 
could  not  remember  when  state-rooms  were 
named  after  the  States  of  the  Union.  She  could 
not  tell  him  of  shipwrecks  and  salvage,  of 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

glers  and  of  the  modern  pirates  who  found  their 
victims  in  the  smoking-room. 

Ford  was  on  his  way  to  England  to  act  as  the 
London  correspondent  of  the  New  York  Republic. 
For  three  years  on  that  most  sensational  of  the 
New  York  dailies  he  had  been  the  star  man, 
the  chief  muckraker,  the  chief  sleuth.  His  in 
terest  was  in  crime.  Not  in  crimes  committed 
in  passion  or  inspired  by  drink,  but  in  such  of 
fences  against  law  and  society  as  are  perpetrated 
with  nice  intelligence.  The  murderer,  the  burg 
lar,  the  strong-arm  men  who,  in  side  streets, 
waylay  respectable  citizens  did  not  appeal  to 
him.  The  man  he  studied,  pursued,  and  exposed 
was  the  cashier  who  evolved  a  new  method  of 
covering  up  his  peculations,  the  dishonest  presi 
dent  of  an  insurance  company,  the  confidence 
man  who  used  no  concealed  weapon  other  than 
his  wit.  Toward  the  criminals  he  pursued  young 
Ford  felt  no  personal  animosity.  He  harassed 
them  as  he  would  have  shot  a  hawk  killing  chick 
ens.  Not  because  he  disliked  the  hawk,  but 
because  the  battle  was  unequal,  and  because  he 
felt  sorry  for  the  chickens. 

Had  you  called  Austin  Ford  an  amateur  detec 
tive  he  would  have  been  greatly  annoyed.  He 
argued  that  his  position  was  similar  to  that  of 


The  Amateur 

the  dramatic  critic.  The  dramatic  critic  warned 
the  public  against  bad  plays;  Ford  warned  it 
against  bad  men.  Having  done  that,  he  left  it  to 
the  public  to  determine  whether  the  bad  man 
should  thrive  or  perish. 

When  the  managing  editor  told  him  of  his  ap 
pointment  to  London,  Ford  had  protested  that 
his  work  lay  in  New  York;  that  of  London  and 
the  English,  except  as  a  tourist  and  sight-seer,  he 
knew  nothing. 

"That's  just  why  we  are  sending  you,"  ex 
plained  the  managing  editor.  "Our  readers  are 
ignorant.  To  make  them  read  about  London 
you've  got  to  tell  them  about  themselves  in  Lon 
don.  They  like  to  know  who's  been  presented 
at  court,  about  the  American  girls  who  have 
married  dukes;  and  which  ones  opened  a  bazaar, 
and  which  one  opened  a  hat  shop,  and  which  is 
getting  a  divorce.  Don't  send  us  anything  con 
cerning  suffragettes  and  Dreadnaughts.  Just  send 
us  stuff  about  Americans.  If  you  take  your  meals 
in  the  Carlton  grill-room  and  drink  at  the  Cecil 
you  can  pick  up  more  good  stones  than  we  can 
print.  You  will  find  lots  of  your  friends  over 
there.  Some  of  those  girls  who  married  dukes/' 
he  suggested,  "know  you,  don't  they?" 

"Not  since  they  married  dukes,"  said  Fordo 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"Well,  anyway,  all  your  other  friends  will  be 
there,"  continued  the  managing  editor  encour 
agingly.  "Now  that  they  have  shut  up  the 
tracks  here  all  the  con  men  have  gone  to  Lon 
don.  They  say  an  American  can't  take  a  drink 
at  the  Salisbury  without  his  fellow-countrymen 
having  a  fight  as  to  which  one  will  sell  him  a  gold 
brick." 

Ford's  eyes  lightened  in  pleasurable  anticipation. 

"Look  them  over,"  urged  the  managing  editor, 
"and  send  us  a  special.  Call  it  'The  American 
Invasion.'  Don't  you  see  a  story  in  it  ?" 

"It  will  be  the  first  one  I  send  you,"  said  Ford. 

The  ship's  doctor  returned  from  his  visit  below 
decks  and  sank  into  the  leather  cushion  close  to 
Ford's  elbow.  For  a  few  moments  the  older  man 
sipped  doubtfully  at  his  gin  and  water,  and,  as 
though  perplexed,  rubbed  his  hand  over  his  bald 
and  shining  head.  "I  told  her  to  talk  to  you," 
he  said  fretfully. 

"Her?  Who?"  inquired  Ford.  "Oh,  the  wid 
ow?" 

"You  were  right  about  that,'*  said  Doctor  Spar 
row;  "she  is  not  a  widow." 

The  reporter  smiled  complacently. 

"Do  you  know  why  I  thought  not?"  he  de 
manded.  "  Because  all  the  time  she  was  at  lunch 


The  Amateur 

eon  she  kept  turning  over  her  wedding-ring  as 
though  she  was  not  used  to  it.  It  was  a  new 
ring,  too.  I  told  you  then  she  was  not  a  widow." 

"Do  you  always  notice  things  like  that  ?"  asked 
the  doctor. 

"Not  on  purpose,"  said  the  amateur  detective; 
"I  can't  help  it.  I  see  ten  things  where  other 
people  see  only  one;  just  as  some  men  run  ten 
times  as  fast  as  other  men.  We  have  tried  it  out 
often  at  the  office;  put  all  sorts  of  junk  under  a 
newspaper,  lifted  the  newspaper  for  five  seconds, 
and  then  each  man  wrote  down  what  he  had  seen. 
Out  of  twenty  things  I  would  remember  seven 
teen.  The  next  best  guess  would  be  about  nine. 
Once  I  saw  a  man  lift  his  coat  collar  to  hide  his 
face.  It  was  in  the  Grand  Central  Station. 
I  stopped  him,  and  told  him  he  was  wanted. 
Turned  out  he  was  wanted.  It  was  Goldberg, 
making  his  getaway  to  Canada. 

"It  is  a  gift,"  said  the  doctor. 

"No,  it's  a  nuisance,"  laughed  the  reporter.  "I 
see  so  many  things  I  don't  want  to  see.  I  see 
that  people  are  wearing  clothes  that  are  not  made 
for  them.  I  see  when  women  are  lying  to  me. 
I  can  see  when  men  are  on  the  verge  of  a  ner 
vous  breakdown,  and  whether  it  is  drink  or  debt 
or  morphine " 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

The  doctor  snorted  triumphantly. 

"You  did  not  see  that  the  widow  was  on  the 
verge  of  a  breakdown!" 

"No,"  returned  the  reporter.  "Is  she?  I'm 
sorry." 

"If  you're  sorry,"  urged  the  doctor  eagerly, 
"you'll  help  her.  She  is  going  to  London  alone 
to  find  her  husband.  He  has  disappeared.  She 
thinks  that  he  has  been  murdered,  or  that  he  is 
lying  ill  in  some  hospital.  I  told  her  if  any  one 
could  help  her  to  find  him  you  could.  I  had  to 
say  something.  She's  very  ill." 

"To  find  her  husband  in  London?"  repeated 
Ford.  "London  is  a  large  town." 

"She  has  photographs  of  him  and  she  knows 
where  he  spends  his  time,"  pleaded  the  doctor. 
"He  is  a  company  promoter.  It  should  be  easy 
for  you." 

"Maybe  he  doesn't  want  her  to  find  him,"  said 
Ford.  "Then  it  wouldn't  be  so  easy  for  me." 

The  old  doctor  sighed  heavily.  "I  know,"  he 
murmured.  "I  thought  of  that,  too.  And  she  is 
so  very  pretty." 

"That  was  another  thing  I  noticed,"  said  Ford. 

The  doctor  gave  no  heed. 

"She  must  stop  worrying,"  he  exclaimed,  "or 
she  will  have  a  mental  collapse.  I  have  tried 

158 


The  Amateur 

sedatives,  but  they  don't  touch  her.  I  want  to 
give  her  courage.  She  is  frightened.  She's  left 
a  baby  boy  at  home,  and  she's  fearful  that  some 
thing  will  happen  to  him,  and  she's  frightened 
at  being  at  sea,  frightened  at  being  alone  in  Lon 
don;  it's  pitiful."  The  old  man  shook  his  head. 
"Pitiful!  Will  you  talk  to  her  now  ?"  he  asked. 

"Nonsense!"   exclaimed  Ford.     "She  does  n't 
want  to  tell  the  story  of  her  life  to  strange  young 


men." 


"  But  it  was  she  suggested  it,"  cried  the  doctor. 
"She  asked  me  if  you  were  Austin  Ford,  the  great 
detective." 

Ford  snorted  scornfully.  "She  did  not!"  he 
protested.  His  tone  was  that  of  a  man  who  hopes 
to  be  contradicted. 

"But  she  did,"  insisted  the  doctor,  "and  I  told 
her  your  specialty  was  tracing  persons.  Her  face 
lightened  at  once;  it  gave  her  hope.  She  will 
listen  to  you.  Speak  very  gently  and  kindly  and 
confidently.  Say  you  are  sure  you  can  find 
him." 

"Where  is  the  lady  now?"  asked  Ford. 

Doctor  Sparrow  scrambled  eagerly  to  his  feet. 
"She  cannot  leave  her  cabin,"  he  answered. 

The  widow,  as  Ford  and  Doctor  Sparrow  stilE 
thought  of  her,  was  lying  on  the  sofa  that  ran  the 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

/ength  of  the  state-room,  parallel  with  the  lower 
berth.  She  was  fully  dressed,  except  that  instead 
of  her  bodice  she  wore  a  kimono  that  left  her 
throat  and  arms  bare.  She  had  been  sleeping, 
and  when  their  entrance  awoke  her,  her  blue  eyes 
regarded  them  uncomprehendingly.  Ford,  hidden 
from  her  by  the  doctor,  observed  that  not  only 
was  she  very  pretty,  but  that  she  was  absurdly 
young,  and  that  the  drowsy  smile  she  turned 
upon  the  old  man  before  she  noted  the  presence 
of  Ford  was  as  innocent  as  that  of  a  baby.  Her 
cheeks  were  flushed,  her  eyes  brilliant,  her  yel 
low  curls  had  become  loosened  and  were  spread 
upon  the  pillow.  When  she  saw  Ford  she  caught 
the  kimono  so  closely  around  her  throat  that  she 
choked.  Had  the  doctor  not  pushed  her  down 
she  would  have  stood. 

"I  thought,"  she  stammered,  "he  was  an  old 


man." 


The  doctor,  misunderstanding,  hastened  to  re 
assure  her.  "Mr.  Ford  is  old  in  experience,"  he 
said  soothingly.  "He  has  had  remarkable  success. 
Why,  he  found  a  criminal  once  just  because  the 
man  wore  a  collar.  And  he  found  Walsh,  the 
burglar,  and  Phillips,  the  forger,  and  a  gang  of 
counterfeiters " 

Mrs.  Ashton  turned  upon  him,  her  eyes  wide 
160 


The  Amateur 

with  wonder.     "But  my  husband,"  she  protested, 
"is  not  a  criminal!" 

"My  dear  lady!"  the  doctor  cried.  "I  did  not 
mean  that,  of  course  not.  I  meant,  if  Mr.  Ford 
can  find  men  who  don't  wish  to  be  found,  how 
easy  for  him  to  find  a  man  who — "  He  turned 
helplessly  to  Ford.  "You  tell  her,"  he  begged. 

Ford  sat  down  on  a  steamer  trunk  that  pro 
truded  from  beneath  the  berth,  and,  turning  to 
the  widow,  gave  her  the  full  benefit  of  his  work 
ing  smile.  It  was  confiding,  helpless,  appealing. 
It  showed  a  trustfulness  in  the  person  to  whom  it 
was  addressed  that  caused  that  individual  to  believe 
Ford  needed  protection  from  a  wicked  world. 

"Doctor  Sparrow  tells  me,"  began  Ford  timidly, 
"you  have  lost  your  husband's  address;  that  you 
will  let  me  try  to  find  him.  If  I  can  help  in  any 
way  I  should  be  glad." 

The  young  girl  regarded  him,  apparently,  with 
disappointment.  It  was  as  though  Doctor  Spar 
row  had  led  her  to  expect  a  man  full  of  years  and 
authority,  a  man  upon  whom  she  could  lean;  not  a 
youth  whose  smile  seemed  to  beg  one  not  to  scold 
him.  She  gave  Ford  three  photographs,  bound  to 
gether  with  a  string. 

"When  Doctor  Sparrow  told  me  you  could 
help  me  I  got  out  these,"  she  said. 

161 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

Ford  jotted  down  a  mental  note  to  the  effect 
that  she  "got  them  out/'  That  is,  she  did  not 
keep  them  where  she  could  always  look  at  them. 
That  she  was  not  used  to  look  at  them  was  evi 
dent  by  the  fact  that  they  were  bound  together. 

The  first  photograph  showed  three  men  stand 
ing  in  an  open  place  and  leaning  on  a  railing. 
One  of  them  was  smiling  toward  the  photog 
rapher.  He  was  a  good-looking  young  man  of 
about  thirty  years  of  age,  well  fed,  well  dressed, 
and  apparently  well  satisfied  with  the  world  and 
himself.  Ford's  own  smile  had  disappeared.  His 
eyes  were  alert  and  interested. 

"The  one  with  the  Panama  hat  pulled  down 
over  his  eyes  is  your  husband  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  assented  the  widow.  Her  tone  showed 
slight  surprise. 

"This  was  taken  about  a  year  ago?"  inquired 
Ford.  "Must  have  been,"  he  answered  himself; 
"they  haven't  raced  at  the  Bay  since  then.  This 
was  taken  in  front  of  the  club  stand — probably 
for  the  Telegraph?"  He  lifted  his  eyes  inquir 
ingly. 

Rising  on  her  elbow  the  young  wife  bent  for 
ward  toward  the  photograph.  "Does  it  say  that 
there,"  she  asked  doubtfully.  "How  did  you 
guess  that?" 

162 


The  Amateur 

In  his  role  as  chorus  the  ship's  doctor  exclaimed' 
with  enthusiasm:  "Didn't  I  tell  you  ?  He's  won 
derful." 

Ford  cut  him  off  impatiently.  "You  never 
saw  a  rail  as  high  as  that  except  around  a  race 
track/'  he  muttered.  "And  the  badge  in  his  but 
tonhole  and  the  angle  of  the  stand  all  show '' 

He  interrupted  himself  to  address  the  widow. 
"This  is  an  owner's  badge.  What  was  the  name 
of  his  stable  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  She  regarded 
the  young  man  with  sudden  uneasiness.  "They 
only  owned  one  horse,  but  I  believe  that  gave 
them  the  privilege  of " 

"I  see,"  exclaimed  Ford.  "Your  husband  is 
a  bookmaker.  But  in  London  he  is  a  promoter 
of  companies." 

"So  my  friend  tells  me,"  said  Mrs.  Ashton. 
"She's  just  got  back  from  London.  Her  husband 
told  her  that  Harry,  my  husband,  was  always  at 
the  American  bar  in  the  Cecil  or  at  the  Salisbury 
or  the  Savoy."  The  girl  shook  her  head.  "But 
a  woman  can't  go  looking  for  a  man  there,"  she 
protested.  "That's,  why  I  thought  you " 

"That'll  be  all  right,"  Ford  assured  her  hur 
riedly.  "It's  a  coincidence,  but  it  happens  that 
my  own  work  takes  me  to  these  hotels,  and  if  your 

163 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

husband  is  there  I  will  find  him."  He  returned 
the  photographs. 

"Hadn't  you  better  keep  one  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  won't  forget  him,"  said  the  reporter.  "Be 
sides" — he  turned  his  eyes  toward  the  doctor  and, 
as  though  thinking  aloud,  said — "he  may  have 
grown  a  beard." 

There  was  a  pause. 

The  eyes  of  the  woman  grew  troubled.  Her 
lips  pressed  together  as  though  in  a  sudden  access 
of  pain. 

"And  he  may,"  Ford  continued,  "have  changed 
his  name." 

As  though  fearful,  if  she  spoke,  the  tears  would 
fall,  the  girl  nodded  her  head  stiffly. 

Having  learned  what  he  wanted  to  know  Ford 
applied  to  the  wound  a  soothing  ointment  of 
promises  and  encouragement. 

"He's  as  good  as  found,"  he  protested.  "You 
will  see  him  in  a  day,  two  days  after  you 
land." 

The  girl's  eyes  opened  happily.  She  clasped 
her  hands  together  and  raised  them. 

"You  will  try?"  she  begged.  "You  will  find 
him  for  me" — she  corrected  herself  eagerly — "for 
me  and  the  baby?" 

The  loose  sleeves  of  the  kimono  fell  back  to 
164 


The  Amateur 

her  shoulders  showing  the  white  arms;  the  eyes 
raised  to  Ford  were  glistening  with  tears. 

"Of  course  I  will  find  him,"  growled  the  re 
porter. 

He  freed  himself  from  the  appeal  in  the  eyes  of 
the  young  mother  and  left  the  cabin.  The  doc 
tor  followed.  He  was  bubbling  over  with  en 
thusiasm. 

"That  was  fine!"  he  cried.  "You  said  just 
the  right  thing.  There  will  be,  no  collapse  now." 

His  satisfaction  was  swept  away  in  a  burst  of 
disgust. 

"The  blackguard!"  he  protested.  "To  desert 
a  wife  as  young  as  that  and  as  pretty  as  that." 

"So  I  have  been  thinking,"  said  the  reporter. 
"I  guess,"  he  added  gravely,  "what  is  going  to 
happen  is  that  before  I  find  her  husband  I  will 
have  got  to  know  him  pretty  well." 

Apparently,  young  Mrs.  Ashton  believed  every 
thing  would  come  to  pass  just  as  Ford  promised 
it  would  and  as  he  chose  to  order  it;  for  the  next 
day,  with  a  color  not  born  of  fever  in  her  cheeks 
and  courage  in  her  eyes,  she  joined  Ford  and  the 
doctor  at  the  luncheon-table.  Her  attention  was 
concentrated  on  the  younger  man.  In  him  she 
saw  the  one  person  who  could  bring  her  husband 
to  her. 

165 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"She  acts,"  growled  the  doctor  later  in  the 
-smoking-room,  "as  though  she  was  afraid  you 
were  going  to  back  out  of  your  promise  and  jump 
overboard. 

"Don't  think,"  he  protested  violently,  "it's  you 
.she's  interested  in.  All  she  sees  in  you  is  what 
you  can  do  for  her.  Can  you  see  that  ?" 

"Any  one  as  clever  at  seeing  things  as  I 
>am,"  returned  the  reporter,  "cannot  help  but  see 
that." 

Later,  as  Ford  was  walking  on  the  upper  deck, 
Mrs.  Ashton  came  toward  him,  beating  her  way 
against  the  wind.  Without  a  trace  of  coquetry 
or  self-consciousness,  and  with  a  sigh  of  content, 
she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"When  I  don't  see  you,"  she  exclaimed  as 
simply  as  a  child,  "I  feel  so  frightened.  When 
I  see  you  I  know  all  will  come  right.  Do  you 
mind  if  I  walk  with  you?"  she  asked.  "And 
do  you  mind  if  every  now  and  then  I  ask  you  to 
tell  me  again  it  will  all  come  right  ?" 

For  the  three  days  following  Mrs.  Ashton  and 
Ford  were  constantly  together.  Or,  at  least,  Mrs. 
Ashton  was  constantly  with  Ford.  She  told  him 
that  when  she  sat  in  her  cabin  the  old  fears  re 
turned  to  her,  and  in  these  moments  of  panic  she 
searched  the  ship  for  him. 

166 


The  Amateur 

The  doctor  protested  that  he  was  growing 
jealous. 

"I'm  not  so  greatly  to  be  envied,"  suggested 
Ford.  "' Harry*  at  meals  three  times  a  day  and 
on  deck  all  the  rest  of  the  day  becomes  monoto 
nous.  On  a  closer  acquaintance  with  Harry  he 
seems  to  be  a  decent  sort  of  a  young  man;  at 
least  he  seems  to  have  been  at  one  time  very  much 
in  love  with  her." 

"Well,"  sighed  the  doctor  sentimentally,  "she 
is  certainly  very  much  in  love  with  Harry." 

Ford  shook  his  head  non-committingly.  "I 
don't  know  her  story,"  he  said.  "Don't  want  to 
know  it." 

The  ship  was  in  the  channel,  on  her  way  to 
Cherbourg,  and  running  as  smoothly  as  a  clock. 
From  the  shore  friendly  lights  told  them  they  were 
nearing  their  journey's  end;  that  the  land  was  on 
every  side.  Seated  on  a  steamer-chair  next  to 
his  in  the  semi-darkness  of  the  deck,  Mrs.  Ashton 
began  to  talk  nervously  and  eagerly. 

"Now  that  we  are  so  near,"  she  murmured,  "I 
have  got  to  tell  you  something.  If  you  did  not 
know  I  would  feel  I  had  not  been  fair.  You 
might  think  that  when  you  were  doing  so  much 
for  me  I  should  have  been  more  honest." 

She  drew  a  long  breath.  "It's  so  hard,"  she  said. 
167 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"Wait,"  commanded  Ford.  "Is  it  going  to  help 
me  to  find  him  ? " 

"No." 

"Then  don't  tell  me." 

His  tone  caused  the  girl  to  start.  She  leaned 
toward  him  and  peered  into  his  face.  His  eyes, 
as  he  looked  back  to  her,  were  kind  and  com 
prehending. 

"You  mean,"  said  the  amateur  detective,  "that 
your  husband  has  deserted  you.  That  if  it  were 
not  for  the  baby  you  would  not  try  to  find  him. 
Is  that  it?" 

Mrs.  Ashton  breathed  quickly  and  turned  her 
face  away. 

"Yes,"  she  whispered.     "That  is  it." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  When  she  faced  him 
again  the  fact  that  there  was  no  longer  a  secret 
between  them  seemed  to  give  her  courage. 

"Maybe,"  she  said,  "you  can  understand. 
Maybe  you  can  tell  me  what  it  means.  I  have 
thought  and  thought.  I  have  gone  over  it  and 
over  it  until  when  I  go  back  to  it  my  head  aches. 
I  have  done  nothing  else  but  think,  and  I  can't 
make  it  seem  better.  I  can't  find  any  excuse.  I 
have  had  no  one  to  talk  to,  no  one  I  could  tell.  I 
have  thought  maybe  a  man  could  understand." 
She  raised  her  eyes  appealingly. 

168 


The  Amateur 

"If  you  can  only  make  it  seem  less  cruel.  Don't 
you  see,"  she  cried  miserably,  "I  want  to  believe; 
I  want  to  forgive  him.  I  want  to  think  he  loves 
me.  Oh!  I  want  so  to  be  able  to  love  him;  but 
how  can  I  ?  I  can't!  I  can't!" 

In  the  week  in  which  they  had  been  thrown 
together  the  girl  unconsciously  had  told  Ford 
much  about  herself  and  her  husband.  What 
she  now  told  him  was  but  an  amplification  of 
what  he  had  guessed. 

She  had  met  Ashton  a  year  and  a  half  before, 
when  she  had  just  left  school  at  the  convent  and 
had  returned  to  live  with  her  family.  Her  home 
was  at  Far  Rockaway.  Her  father  was  a  cashier 
in  a  bank  at  Long  Island  City.  One  night,  with 
a  party  of  friends,  she  had  been  taken  to  a  dance 
at  one  of  the  beach  hotels,  and  there  met  Ashton. 
At  that  time  he  was  one  of  a  firm  that  was  mak 
ing  book  at  the  Aqueduct  race-track.  The  girl 
had  met  very  few  men  and  with  them  was  shy 
and  frightened,  but  with  Ashton  she  found  her 
self  at  once  at  ease.  That  night  he  drove  her  and 
her  friends  home  in  his  touring-car  and  the  next 
day  they  teased  her  about  her  conquest.  It  made 
her  very  happy.  After  that  she  went  to  hops  at 
the  hotel,  and  as  the  bookmaker  did  not  dance, 
the  two  young  people  sat  upon  the  piazza.  Then 

169 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

Ashton  came  to  see  her  at  her  own  house,  but 
when  her  father  learned  that  the  young  man  who 
had  been  calling  upon  her  was  a  bookmaker  he 
told  him  he  could  not  associate  with  his  daughter. 

But  the  girl  was  now  deeply  in  love  with  Ashton, 
and  apparently  he  with  her.  He  begged  her  to 
marry  him.  They  knew  that  to  this,  partly  from 
prejudice  and  partly  owing  to  his  position  in  the 
bank,  her  father  would  object.  Accordingly  they 
agreed  that  in  August,  when  the  racing  moved  to 
Saratoga,  they  would  run  away  and  get  married 
at  that  place.  Their  plan  was  that  Ashton  would 
leave  for  Saratoga  with  the  other  racing  men,  and 
that  she  would  join  him  the  next  day. 

They  had  arranged  to  be  married  by  a  magis 
trate,  and  Ashton  had  shown  her  a  letter  from  one 
at  Saratoga  who  consented  to  perform  the  cere 
mony.  He  had  given  her  an  engagement  ring 
and  two  thousand  dollars,  which  he  asked  her  to 
keep  for  him,  lest  tempted  at  the  track  he  should 
lose  it. 

But  she  assured  Ford  it  was  not  such  material 
things  as  a  letter,  a  ring,  or  gift  of  money  that  had 
led  her  to  trust  Ashton.  His  fear  of  losing  her, 
his  complete  subjection  to  her  wishes,  his  happi 
ness  in  her  presence,  all  seemed  to  prove  that  to 
make  her  happy  was  his  one  wish,  and  that  he 

170 


The  Amateur 

could  do  anything  to  make  her  unhappy  appeared 
impossible. 

They  were  married  the  morning  she  arrived  at 
Saratoga;  and  the  same  day  departed  for  Niagara 
Falls  and  Quebec.  The  honeymoon  lasted  ten 
days.  They  were  ten  days  of  complete  happiness. 
No  one,  so  the  girl  declared,  could  have  been 
more  kind,  more  unselfishly  considerate  than  her 
husband.  They  returned  to  Saratoga  and  en 
gaged  a  suite  of  rooms  at  one  of  the  big  hotels. 
Ashton  was  not  satisfied  with  the  rooms  shown 
him,  and  leaving  her  upstairs  returned  to  the 
office  floor  to  ask  for  others. 

Since  that  moment  his  wife  had  never  seen  him 
nor  heard  from  him. 

On  the  day  of  her  marriage  young  Mrs.  Ashton 
had  written  to  her  father,  asking  him  to  give  her 
his  good  wishes  and  pardon.  He  refused  both. 
As  she  had  feared,  he  did  not  consider  that  for  a 
bank  clerk  a  gambler  made  a  desirable  son-in- 
law;  and  the  letters  he  wrote  his  daughter  were 
so  bitter  that  in  reply  she  informed  him  he  had 
forced  her  to  choose  between  her  family  and 
her  husband,  and  that  she  chose  her  husband. 
In  consequence,  when  she  found  herself  deserted 
she  felt  she  could  not  return  to  her  people.  She 
remained  in  Saratoga.  There  she  moved  into 

171 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

cheap  lodgings,  and  in  order  that  the  two  thou 
sand  dollars  Ashton  had  left  with  her  might  be 
saved  for  his  child,  she  had  learned  to  type-write, 
and  after  four  months  had  been  able  to  support 
herself.  Within  the  last  month  a  girl  friend,  who 
had  known  both  Ashton  and  herself  before  they 
were  married,  had  written  her  that  her  husband 
was  living  in  London.  For  the  sake  of  her  son 
she  had  at  once  determined  to  make  an  effort  to 
seek  him  out. 

"The  son,  nonsense!"  exclaimed  the  doctor, 
when  Ford  retold  the  story.  "She  is  not  crossing 
the  ocean  because  she  is  worried  about  the  future 
of  her  son.  She  seeks  her  own  happiness.  The 
woman  is  in  love  with  her  husband." 

Ford  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  know!"  he  objected.  "She's  so  ex 
travagant  in  her  praise  of  Harry  that  it  seems 
unreal.  It  sounds  insincere.  Then,  again,  when 
I  swear  I  will  find  him  she  shows  a  delight  that 
you  might  describe  as  savage,  almost  vindictive. 
As  though,  if  I  did  find  Harry,  the  first  thing  she 
would  do  would  be  to  stick  a  knife  in  him." 

"Maybe,"  volunteered  the  doctor  sadly,  "she 
has  heard  there  is  a  woman  in  the  case.  Maybe 
she  is  the  one  she's  thinking  of  sticking  the  knife 
into?" 

172 


The  Amateur 

"Well,"  declared  the  reporter,  "if  she  doesn't 
stop  looking  savage  every  time  I  promise  to  find 
Harry  I  won't  find  Harry.  Why  should  I  act  the 
part  of  Fate,  anyway  ?  How  do  I  know  that 
Harry  hasn't  got  a  wife  in  London  and  several  in 
the  States  ?  How  do  we  know  he  didn't  leave  his 
country  for  his  country's  good  ?  That's  what  it 
looks  like  to  me.  How  can  we  tell  what  confronted 
him  the  day  he  went  down  to  the  hotel  desk  to 
change  his  rooms  and,  instead,  got  into  his  touring- 
car  and  beat  the  speed  limit  to  Canada.  Whom 
did  he  meet  in  the  hotel  corridor  ?  A  woman  with 
a  perfectly  good  marriage  certificate,  or  a  detec 
tive  with  a  perfectly  good  warrant  ?  Or  did  Harry 
find  out  that  his  bride  had  a  devil  of  a  temper  of 
her  own,  and  that  for  him  marriage  was  a  failure  ? 
The  widow  is  certainly  a  very  charming  young 
woman,  but  there  may  be  two  sides  to  this." 

"You  are  a  cynic,  sir,"  protested  the  doctor. 

"That  may  be,"  growled  the  reporter,  "but  I 
am  not  a  private  detective  agency,  or  a  matri 
monial  bureau,  and  before  I  hear  myself  saying, 
'Bless  you,  my  children!'  both  of  these  young 
people  will  have  to  show  me  why  they  should  not 
be  kept  asunder." 


Once  Upon  a  Time 
II 

On  the  afternoon  of  their  arrival  in  London 
Ford  convoyed  Mrs.  Ashton  to  an  old-established 
private  hotel  in  Craven  Street. 

"Here,"  he  explained,  "you  will  be  within  a 
few  hundred  yards  of  the  place  in  which  your 
husband  is  said  to  spend  his  time.  I  will  be  liv 
ing  in  the  same  hotel.  If  I  find  him  you  will 
know  it  in  ten  minutes." 

The  widow  gave  a  little  gasp,  whether  of  ex 
citement  or  of  happiness  Ford  could  not  deter 
mine. 

"Whatever  happens,"  she  begged,  "will  you  let 
me  hear  from  you  sometimes  ?  You  are  the  only 
person  I  know  in  London — and — it's  so  big  it 
frightens  me.  I  don't  want  to  be  a  burden,"  she 
went  on  eagerly,  "but  if  I  can  feel  you  are  within 
call " 

"What  you  need,"  said  Ford  heartily,  "is  less 
of  the  doctor's  nerve  tonic  and  sleeping  draughts, 
and  a  little  innocent  diversion.  To-night  I  am 
going  to  take  you  to  the  Savoy  to  supper." 

Mrs.  Ashton  exclaimed  delightedly,  and  then 
was  filled  with  misgivings. 

"I  have  nothing  to  wear,"  she  protested,  "and 
over  here,  in  the  evening,  the  women  dress  so 


The  Amateur 

well.     I    have    a   dinner   gown,"    she   exclaimed, 
"  but  it's  black.     Would  that  do  ? " 

Ford  assured  her  nothing  could  be  better.  He 
had  a  man's  vanity  in  liking  a  woman  with  whom 
he  was  seen  in  public  to  be  pretty  and  smartly 
dressed,  and  he  felt  sure  that  in  black  the  blond 
beauty  of  Mrs.  Ashton  would  appear  to  advan 
tage.  They  arranged  to  meet  at  eleven  on  the 
promenade  leading  to  the  Savoy  supper-room,  and 
parted  with  mutual  satisfaction  at  the  prospect. 

The  finding  of  Harry  Ashton  was  so  simple 
that  in  its  very  simplicity  it  appeared  spectac 
ular. 

On  leaving  Mrs.  Ashton,  Ford  engaged  rooms 
at  the  Hotel  Cecil.  Before  visiting  his  rooms  he 
made  his  way  to  the  American  bar.  He  did  not 
go  there  seeking  Harry  Ashton.  His  object  was 
entirely  self-centred.  His  purpose  was  to  drink 
to  himself  and  to  the  lights  of  London.  But  as 
though  by  appointment,  the  man  he  had  prom 
ised  to  find  was  waiting  for  him.  As  Ford  en 
tered  the  room,  at  a  table  facing  the  door  sat 
Ashton.  There  was  no  mistaking  him.  He  wore 
a  mustache,  but .  it  was  disguise.  He  was  the 
same  good-natured,  good-looking  youth  who,  in 
the  photograph  from  under  a  Panama  hat,  had 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

smiled  upon  the  world.  With  a  glad  cry  Ford 
rushed  toward  him. 

"Fancy  meeting  you!"  he  exclaimed. 

Mr.  Ashton's  good-natured  smile  did  not  relax. 
He  merely  shook  his  head. 

"Afraid  you  have  made  a  mistake,"  he  said. 

The  reporter  regarded  him  blankly.  His  face 
showed  his  disappointment. 

"Aren't  you  Charles  W.  Garrett,  of  New 
York?"  he  demanded. 

"Not  me/'  said  Mr.  Ashton. 

"But,"  Ford  insisted  in  hurt  tones,  as  though 
he  were  being  trifled  with,  "you  have  been  told 
you  look  like  him,  haven't  you  ?" 

Mr.  Ashton's  good  nature  was  unassailable. 

"Sorry,"  he  declared,  "never  heard  of  him." 

Ford  became  garrulous,  he  could  not  believe 
two  men  could  look  so  much  alike.  It  was  a  re 
markable  coincidence.  The  stranger  must  cer 
tainly  have  a  drink,  the  drink  intended  for  his 
twin.  Ashton  was  bored,  but  accepted.  He 
was  well  acquainted  with  the  easy  good-fellow 
ship  of  his  countrymen.  The  room  in  which  he 
sat  was  a  meeting-place  for  them.  He  con 
sidered  that  they  were  always  giving  each  other 
drinks,  and  not  only  were  they  always  introduc 
ing  themselves,  but  saying,  "Shake  hands  with 


The  Amateur 

my  friend,  Mr.  So-and-So."  After  five  minutes 
they  showed  each  other  photographs  of  the  chil 
dren.  This  one,  though  as  loquacious  as  the 
others,  seemed  better  dressed,  more  "wise";  he 
brought  to  the  exile  the  atmosphere  of  his  be 
loved  Broadway,  so  Ashton  drank  to  him  pleas 
antly. 

"My  name  is  Sydney  Carter,"  he  volunteered. 

As  a  poker-player  skims  over  the  cards  in  his 
hand,  Ford,  in  his  mind's  eye,  ran  over  the  value 
of  giving  or  not  giving  his  right  name.  He 
decided  that  Ashton  would  not  have  heard  it  and 
that,  if  he  gave  a  false  one,  there  was  a  chance 
that  later  Ashton  might  find  out  that  he  had 
done  so.  Accordingly  he  said,  "Mine  is  Austin 
Ford,"  and  seated  himself  at  Ashton's  table. 
Within  ten  minutes  the  man  he  had  promised 
to  pluck  from  among  the  eight  million  inhabi 
tants  of  London  was  smiling  sympathetically  at 
his  jests  and  buying  a  drink. 

On  the  steamer  Ford  had  rehearsed  the  story 
with  which,  should  he  meet  Ashton,  he  would 
introduce  himself.  It  was  one  arranged  to  fit 
with  his  theory  that  Ashton  was  a  crook.  If 
Ashton  were  a  crook  Ford  argued  that  to  at  once 
ingratiate  himself  in  his  good  graces  he  also  must 
be  a  crook.  His  plan  was  to  invite  Ashton  to  co- 

177 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

operate  with  him  in  some  scheme  that  was  openly 
dishonest.  By  so  doing  he  hoped  apparently  to 
place  himself  at  Ashton's  mercy.  He  believed 
if  he  could  persuade  Ashton  he  was  more  of  a 
rascal  than  Ashton  himself,  and  an  exceedingly 
stupid  rascal,  any  distrust  the  bookmaker  might 
feel  toward  him  would  disappear.  He  made  his 
advances  so  openly,  and  apparently  showed  his 
hand  so  carelessly,  that,  from  being  bored,  Ashton 
became  puzzled,  then  interested;  and  when  Ford 
insisted  he  should  dine  with  him,  he  considered  it 
so  necessary  to  find  out  who  the  youth  might  be 
who  was  forcing  himself  upon  him  that  he  ac 
cepted  the  invitation. 

They  adjourned  to  dress  and  an  hour  later,  at 
Ford's  suggestion,  they  met  at  the  Carlton.  There 
Ford  ordered  a  dinner  calculated  to  lull  his  newly 
made  friend  into  a  mood  suited  to  confidence, 
but  which  had  on  Ashton  exactly  the  opposite 
effect.  Merely  for  the  pleasure  of  his  company, 
utter  strangers  were  not  in  the  habit  of  treating 
him  to  strawberries  in  February,  and  vintage 
champagne;  and,  in  consequence,  in  Ford's  hos 
pitality  he  saw  only  cause  for  suspicion.  If,  as 
he  had  first  feared,  Ford  was  a  New  York  detec 
tive,  it  was  most  important  he  should  know  that. 
No  one  better  than  Ashton  understood  that,  at 

178 


The  Amateur 

that  moment,  his  presence  in  New  York  meant, 
for  the  police,  unalloyed  satisfaction,  and  for  him 
self  undisturbed  solitude.  But  Ford  was  unlike 
any  detective  of  his  acquaintance;  and  his  ac 
quaintance  had  been  extensive.  It  was  true  Ford 
was  familiar  with  all  the  habits  of  Broadway  and 
the  Tenderloin.  Of  places  with  which  Ashton 
was  intimate,  and  of  men  with  whom  Ashton  had 
formerly  been  well  acquainted,  he  talked  glibly. 
But,  if  he  were  a  detective,  Ashton  considered, 
they  certainly  had  improved  the  class. 

The  restaurant  into  which  for  the  first  time 
Ashton  had  penetrated,  and  in  which  he  felt  ill 
at  ease,  was  to  Ford,  he  observed,  a  matter  of 
course.  Evidently  for  Ford  it  held  no  terrors. 
He  criticised  the  service,  patronized  the  head 
waiters,  and  grumbled  at  the  food;  and  when, 
on  leaving  the  restaurant,  an  Englishman  and 
his  wife  stopped  at  their  table  to  greet  him,  he 
accepted  their  welcome  to  London  without  em 
barrassment. 

Ashton,  rolling  his  cigar  between  his  lips,  ob 
served  the  incident  with  increasing  bewilderment. 

"You've  got  some  swell  friends,"  he  growled. 
"I'll  bet  you  never  met  them  at  Healey's!" 

"I  meet  all  kinds  of  people  in  my  business," 
said  Ford.  "I  once  sold  that  man  some  mining 

179 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

stock,  and  the  joke  of  it  was,"  he  added,  smiling 
knowingly,  "it  turned  out  to  be  good." 

Ashton  decided  that  the  psychological  moment 
had  arrived. 

"What  is  your  business  ?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  a  company  promoter,"  said  Ford  easily. 
"I  thought  I  told  you." 

"I  did  not  tell  you  that  I  was  a  company  pro 
moter,  too,  did  I  ?"  demanded  Ashton. 

"No,"  answered  Ford,  with  apparent  surprise. 
"Are  you  ?  That's  funny." 

Ashton  watched  for  the  next  move,  but  the 
subject  seemed  in  no  way  to  interest  Ford.  In 
stead  of  following  it  up  he  began  afresh. 

"Have  you  any  money  lying  idle?"  he  asked 
abruptly.  "About  a  thousand  pounds." 

Ashton  recognized  that  the  mysterious  stranger 
was  about  to  disclose  both  himself  and  whatever 
object  he  had  in  seeking  him  out.  He  cast  a 
quick  glance  about  him. 

"I  can  always  find  money,"  he  said  guardedly. 
"What's  the  proposition  ?" 

With  pretended  nervousness  Ford  leaned  for 
ward  and  began  the  story  he  had  rehearsed.  It 
was  a  new  version  of  an  old  swindle  and  to  every 
self-respecting  confidence  man  was  well  known 
as  the  "sick  engineer"  game.  The  plot  is  very 

180 


The  Amateur 

simple.  The  sick  engineer  is  supposed  to  be  a 
mining  engineer  who,  as  an  expert,  has  examined 
a  gold  mine  and  reported  against  it.  For  his 
services  the  company  paid  him  partly  in  stock. 
He  falls  ill  and  is  at  the  point  of  death.  While 
he  has  been  ill  much  gold  has  been  found  in 
the  mine  he  examined,  and  the  stock  which  he 
considers  worthless  is  now  valuable.  Of  this, 
owing  to  his  illness,  he  is  ignorant.  One  confi 
dence  man  acts  the  part  of  the  sick  engineer, 
and  the  other  that  of  a  broker  who  knows  the 
engineer  possesses  the  stock  but  has  no  money 
with  which  to  purchase  it  from  him.  For  a  share 
of  the  stock  he  offers  to  tell  the  dupe  where  it 
and  the  engineer  can  be  found.  They  visit  the 
man,  apparently  at  the  point  of  death,  and  the 
dupe  gives  him  money  for  his  stock.  Later  the 
dupe  finds  the  stock  is  worthless,  and  the  sup 
posed  engineer  and  the  supposed  broker  divide 
the  money  he  paid  for  it.  In  telling  the  story 
Ford  pretended  he  was  the  broker  and  that  he 
thought  in  Ashton  he  had  found  a  dupe  who 
would  buy  the  stock  from  the  sick  engineer. 

As  the  story  unfolded  and  Ashton  appreciated 
the  part  Ford  expected  him  to  play  in  it,  his  emo 
tions  were  so  varied  that  he  was  in  danger  of  apo 
plexy.  Amusement,  joy,  chagrin,  and  indignation 

181 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

illuminated  his  countenance.  His  cigar  ceased  to 
burn,  and  with  his  eyes  opened  wide  he  regarded 
Ford  in  pitying  wonder. 

"Wait!"  he  commanded.  He  shook  his  head 
uncomprehendingly.  "Tell  me,"  he  asked,  "do 
I  look  as  easy  as  that,  or  are  you  just  naturally 
foolish?" 

Ford  pretended  to  fall  into  a  state  of  great  alarm. 

"I  don't  understand,"  he  stammered. 

"Why,  son,"  exclaimed  Ashton  kindly,  "I  was 
taught  that  story  in  the  public  schools.  I  invented 
it.  I  stopped  using  it  before  you  cut  your  teeth. 
Gee!"  he  exclaimed  delightedly.  "I  knew  I  had 
grown  respectable-looking,  but  I  didn't  think  I 
was  so  damned  respectable-looking  as  that!"  He 
began  to  laugh  silently;  so  greatly  was  he  amused 
that  the  tear^  shone  in  his  eyes  and  his  shoulders 
shook. 

"I'm  sorry  for  you,  son,"  he  protested,  "but 
that's  the  funniest  thing  that's  come  my  way  in 
two  years.  And  you  buying  me  hot-house  grapes, 
too,  and  fancy  water!  I  wish  you  could  see  your 
face,"  he  taunted. 

Ford  pretended  to  be  greatly  chagrined. 

"All  right,"  he  declared  roughly.  "The  laugh's 
on  me  this  time,  but  just  because  I  lost  one  trick, 
don't  think  I  don't  know  my  business.  Now 

182 


The  Amateur 

that  Fm  wise  to  what  you  are  we  can  work  to 
gether  and " 

The  face  of  young  Mr.  Ashton  became  in 
stantly  grave.  His  jaws  snapped  like  a  trap. 
When  he  spoke  his  tone  was  assured  and  slightly 
contemptuous. 

"Not  with  me  you  can't  work!"  he  said. 

"Don't  think  because  I  fell  down  on  this," 
Ford  began  hotly. 

"  Fm  not  thinking  of  you  at  all,"  said  Ashton. 
"You're  a  nice  little  fellow  all  right,  but  you  have 
sized  me  up  wrong.  I  am  on  the  'straight  and 
narrow'  that  leads  back  to  little  old  New  York 
and  God's  country,  and  I  am  warranted  not  to 
run  off  my  trolley." 

The  words  were  in  the  vernacular,  but  the  tone 
in  which  the  young  man  spoke  rang  so  confidently 
that  it  brought  to  Ford  a  pleasant  thrill  of  satis 
faction.  From  the  first  he  had  found  in  the  per 
sonality  of  the  young  man  something  winning 
and  likable;  a  shrewd  manliness  and  tolerant 
good-humor.  His  eyes  may  have  shown  his  sym 
pathy,  for,  in  sudden  confidence,  Ashton  leaned 
nearer. 

"It's  like  this,"  he  said.  "Several  years  ago  I 
made  a  bad  break  and,  about  a  year  later,  they  got 
on  to  me  and  I  had  to  cut  and  run.  In  a  month 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

the  law  of  limitation  lets  me  loose  and  I  can  go 
back.  And  you  can  bet  I'm  going  back.  I  will 
be  on  the  bowsprit  of  the  first  boat.  I've  had  all 
I  want  of  the  '  fugitive-from-justice '  game,  thank 
you,  and  I  have  taken  good  care  to  keep  a  clean 
bill  of  health  so  that  I  won't  have  to  play  it  again. 
They've  been  trying  to  get  me  for  several  years 
— especially  the  Pinkertons.  They  have  chased 
me  all  over  Europe.  Chased  me  with  all  kinds  of 
men;  sometimes  with  women;  they've  tried  every 
thing  except  blood-hounds.  At  first  I  thought  you 
were  a  'Pink,'  that's  why " 

"I!"  interrupted  Ford,  exploding  derisively. 
"That's  good!  That's  one  on  you"  He  ceased 
laughing  and  regarded  Ashton  kindly.  "How  do 
you  know  I'm  not  ?"  he  asked. 

For  an  instant  the  face  of  the  bookmaker  grew 
a  shade  less  red  and  his  eyes  searched  those  of 
Ford  in  a  quick  agony  of  suspicion.  Ford  contin 
ued  to  smile  steadily  at  him,  and  Ashton  breathed 
with  relief. 

"I'll  take  a  chance  with  you,"  he  said,  "and 
if  you  are  as  bad  a  detective  as  you  are  a  sport  I 
needn't  worry." 

They  both  laughed,  and,  with  sudden  mutual 
liking,  each  raised  his  glass  and  nodded. 

"  But  they  haven't  got  me  yet,"  continued  Ash- 
184 


The  Amateur 

ton,  "and  unless  they  get  me  in  the  next  thirty 
days  I'm  free.  So  you  needn't  think  that  I'll 
help  you.  It's  'never  again'  for  me.  The  first 
time,  that  was  the  fault  of  the  crowd  I  ran  with ; 
the  second  time,  that  would  be  my  fault.  And 
there  ain't  going  to  be  any  second  time." 

He  shook  his  head  doggedly,  and  with  squared 
shoulders  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"If  it  only  breaks  right  for  me,"  he  declared, 
"I'll  settle  down  in  one  of  those  'Own-your  own- 
homes,'  forty-five  minutes  from  Broadway,  and 
never  leave  the  wife  and  the  baby." 

The  words  almost  brought  Ford  to  his  feet. 
He  had  forgotten  the  wife  and  the  baby.  He  en 
deavored  to  explain  his  surprise  by  a  sudden 
assumption  of  incredulity. 

"Fancy  you  married!"    he  exclaimed. 

"Married!"  protested  Ashton.  "I'm  married 
to  the  finest  little  lady  that  ever  wore  skirts,  and 
in  thirty-seven  days  I'll  see  her  again.  Thirty- 
seven  days,"  he  repeated  impatiently.  "Gee! 
That's  a  hell  of  a  long  time!" 

Ford  studied  the  young  man  with  increased  in 
terest.  That  he  was  speaking  sincerely,  from  the 
heart,  there  seemed  no  possible  doubt. 

Ashton  frowned  and  his  face  clouded.  "I've 
not  been  able  to  treat  her  just  right,"  he  volun- 

" 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

teered.  "If  she  wrote  me,  the  letters  might  give 
them  a  clew,  and  I  don't  write  her  because  I 
don't  want  her  to  know  all  my  troubles  until 
they're  over.  But  I  know,"  he  added,  "that  five 
minutes'  talk  will  set  it  all  right.  That  is,  if  she 
still  feels  about  me  the  way  I  feel  about  her." 

The  man  crushed  his  cigar  in  his  fingers  and 
threw  the  pieces  on  the  floor.  "  That's  what's 
been  the  worst!"  he  exclaimed  bitterly.  "Not 
hearing,  not  knowing.  It's  been  hell!" 

His  eyes  as  he  raised  them  were  filled  with  suf 
fering,  deep  and  genuine. 

Ford  rose  suddenly.  "Let's  go  down  to  the 
Savoy  for  supper,"  he  said. 

"Supper!"  growled  Ashton.  "What's  the  use 
of  supper  ?  Do  you  suppose  cold  chicken  and  a 
sardine  can  keep  me  from  thinking?" 

Ford  placed  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder. 

"You  come  with  me,"  he  said  kindly.  "I'm 
going  to  do  you  a  favor.  I'm  going  to  bring  you 
a  piece  of  luck.  Don't  ask  me  any  questions," 
he  commanded  hurriedly.  "Just  take  my  word 
for  it." 

They  had  sat  so  late  over  their  cigars  that  when 
they  reached  the  restaurant  on  the  Embankment 
the  supper-room  was  already  partly  filled,  and 
the  corridors  and  lounge  were  brilliantly  lit  and 

186 


The  Amateur 

gay  with  well-dressed  women.  Ashton  regarded 
the  scene  with  gloomy  eyes.  Since  he  had  spoken 
of  his  wife  he  had  remained  silent,  chewing  sav 
agely  on  a  fresh  cigar.  But  Ford  was  grandly 
excited.  He  did  not  know  exactly  what  he  in 
tended  to  do.  He  was  prepared  to  let  events 
direct  themselves,  but  of  two  things  he  was  as 
sured:  Mrs.  Ashton  loved  her  husband,  and  her 
husband  loved  her.  As  the  god  in  the  car  who 
was  to  bring  them  together,  he  felt  a  delightful 
responsibility. 

The  young  men  left  the  coat-room  and  came 
down  the  short  flight  of  steps  that  leads  to  the 
wide  lounge  of  the  restaurant.  Ford  slightly  in 
advance,  searching  with  his  eyes  for  Mrs  Ashton, 
found  her  seated  alone  in  the  lounge,  evidently 
waiting  for  him.  At  the  first  glance  she  was 
hardly  to  be  recognized.  Her  low-cut  dinner 
gown  of  black  satin  that  clung  to  her  like  a  wet 
bath  robe  was  the  last  word  of  the  new  fashion; 
and  since  Ford  had  seen  her  her  blond  hair  had 
been  arranged  by  an  artist.  Her  appearance  was 
smart,  elegant,  daring.  She  was  easily  the  pret 
tiest  and  most  striking-looking  woman  in  the  room, 
and  for  an  instant  Ford  stood  gazing  at  her,  trying 
to  find  in  the  self-possessed  young  woman  the  de 
serted  wife  of  the  steamer.  She  did  not  see  Ford. 

187 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

Her  eyes  were  following  the  progress  down  the 
hall  of  a  woman,  and  her  profile  was  toward 
him. 

The  thought  of  the  happiness  he  was  about  to 
bring  to  two  young  people  gave  Ford  the  sense  of 
a  genuine  triumph,  and  when  he  turned  to  Ashton 
to  point  out  his  wife  to  him  he  was  thrilling  with 
pride  and  satisfaction.  His  triumph  received  a 
bewildering  shock.  Already  Ashton  had  discovered 
the  presence  of  Mrs.  Ashton.  He  was  standing 
transfixed,  lost  to  his  surroundings,  devouring  her 
with  his  eyes.  And  then,  to  the  amazement  of 
Ford,  his  eyes  filled  with  fear,  doubt,  and  anger. 
Swiftly,  with  the  movement  of  a  man  ducking  a 
blow,  he  turned  and  sprang  up  the  stairs  and  into 
the  coat-room.  Ford,  bewildered  and  more  con 
scious  of  his  surroundings,  followed  him  less 
quickly,  and  was  in  consequence  only  in  time  to 
see  Ashton,  dragging  his  overcoat  behind  him,  dis 
appear  into  the  court-yard.  He  seized  his  own 
coat  and  raced  in  pursuit.  As  he  ran  into  the 
court-yard  Ashton,  in  the  Strand,  was  just  closing 
the  door  of  a  taxicab,  but  before  the  chauffeur 
could  free  it  from  the  surrounding  traffic,  Ford 
had  dragged  the  door  open,  and  leaped  inside. 
Ashton  was  huddled  in  the  corner,  panting,  his 
face  pale  with  alarm. 

188 


She  was  easily  the  prettiest  and  most  striking-looking 
woman  in  the  room 


The  Amateur 

"What  the  devil  ails  you  ?"  roared  Ford.  "Are 
you  trying  to  shake  me  ?  You've  got  to  come 
back.  You  must  speak  to  her." 

"Speak  to  her!"  repeated  Ashton.  His  voice 
was  sunk  to  a  whisper.  The  look  of  alarm  in 
his  face  was  confused  with  one  grim  and  men 
acing.  "  Did  you  know  she  was  there  ? "  he  de 
manded  softly.  "Did  you  take  me  there,  know- 
ing-  -?" 

"Of  course  I  knew,"  protested  Ford.  "She's 
been  looking  for  you " 

His  voice  subsided  in  a  squeak  of  amazement 
and  pain.  Ashton's  left  hand  had  shot  out  and 
swiftly  seized  his  throat.  With  the  other  he  pressed 
an  automatic  revolver  against  Ford's  shirt  front. 

"I  know  she's  been  looking  for  me,"  the  man 
whispered  thickly.  "For  two  years  she's  been 
looking  for  me.  I  know  all  about  her!  But, 
who  in  hell  are  you?" 

Ford,  gasping  and  gurgling,  protested  loyally. 

"You  are  wrong!"  he  cried.  "She's  been  at- 
home  waiting  for  you.  She  thinks  you  have  de 
serted  her  and  your  baby.  I  tell  you  she  loves 
you,  you  fool,  she  loves  you!" 

The  fingers  on  his  throat  suddenly  relaxed; 
the  flaming  eyes  of  Ashton,  glaring  into  his,  wa 
vered  and  grew  wide  with  amazement. 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"Loves  me,"  he  whispered.     "Who  loves  rne  ?" 

"Your  wife,"  protested  Ford;  "the  girl  at  the 
Savoy,  your  wife." 

Again  the  fingers  of  Ashton  pressed  deep  around 
his  neck. 

"That  is  not  my  wife,"  he  whispered.  His 
voice  was  unpleasantly  cold  and  grim.  "That's 
'Baby  Belle,'  with  her  hair  dyed,  a  detective  lady 
of  the  Pinkertons,  hired  to  find  me.  And  you 
know  it.  Now,  who  are  you?" 

To  permit  him  to  reply  Ashton  released  his 
hand,  but  at  the  same  moment,  in  a  sudden  access 
of  fear,  dug  the  revolver  deeper  into  the  pit  of 
Ford's  stomach. 

"Quick!"  he  commanded.  "Never  mind  the 
girl.  Who  are  you?" 

Ford  collapsed  against  the  cushioned  corner 
of  the  cab.  "And  she  begged  me  to  find  you,"  he 
roared,  "because  she  loved  you,  because  she  wanted 
to  believe  in  you!"  He  held  his  arms  above  his 
head.  "Go  ahead  and  shoot!"  he  cried.  "You 
want  to  know  who  I  am?"  he  demanded.  His 
voice  rang  with  rage.  "I'm  an  amateur.  Just  a 
natural  born  fool-amateur!  Go  on  and  shoot!" 

The  gun  in  Ashton's  hand  sank  to  his  knee. 
Between  doubt  and  laughter  his  face  was  twisted 
in  strange  lines.  The  cab  was  whirling  through  a 

190 


The  Amateur 

narrow,  unlit  street  leading  to  Covent  Garden. 
Opening  the  door  Ashton  called  to  the  chauffeur, 
and  then  turned  to  Ford. 

"You  get  off  here!"  he  commanded.  "Maybe 
you're  a  'Pink/  maybe  you're  a  good  fellow.  I 
think  you're  a  good  fellow,  but  I'm  not  taking 
any  chances.  Get  out!" 

Ford  scrambled  to  the  street,  and  as  the  taxi- 
cab  again  butted  itself  forward,  Ashton  leaned 
far  through  the  window.  "Good-by,  son,"  he 
called.  "Send  me  a  picture-postal  card  to  Paris. 
For  I  am  off  to  Maxim's,"  he  cried,  "and  you 
can  go  to " 

"Not  at  all!"  shouted  the  amateur  detective 
indignantly.  "I'm  going  back  to  take  supper 
with  'Baby  Belle'!" 


191 


THE  MAKE-BELIEVE  MAN 


THE  MAKE-BELIEVE  MAN 

I 

1HAD  made  up  my  mind  that  when  my  vaca 
tion  came  I  would  spend  it  seeking  advent 
ures.  I  have  always  wished  for  adventures,  but, 
though  I  am  old  enough — I  was  twenty-five  last 
October — and  have  always  gone  half-way  to  meet 
them,  adventures  avoid  me.  Kinney  says  it  is  my 
fault.  He  holds  that  if  you  want  adventures  you 
must  go  after  them. 

Kinney  sits  next  to  me  at  Joyce  &  Carboy's, 
the  woollen  manufacturers,  where  I  am  a  stenog 
rapher,  and  Kinney  is  a  clerk,  and  we  both  have 
rooms  at  Mrs.  Shaw's  boarding-house.  Kinney 
is  only  a  year  older  than  myself,  but  he  is  always 
meeting  with  adventures.  At  night,  when  I  have 
sat  up  late  reading  law,  so  that  I  may  fit  myself 
for  court  reporting,  and  in  the  hope  that  some 
day  I  may  become  a  member  of  the  bar,  he  will 
knock  at  my  door  and  tell  me  some  surprising 
thing  that  has  just  happened  to  him.  Sometimes 
he  has  followed  a  fire-engine  and  helped  people 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

from  a  fire-escape,  or  he  has  pulled  the  shield  off 
a  policeman,  or  at  the  bar  of  the  Hotel  Knicker 
bocker  has  made  friends  with  a  stranger,  who 
turns  out  to  be  no  less  than  a  nobleman  or  art 
actor.  And  women,  especially  beautiful  women, 
are  always  pursuing  Kinney  in  taxicabs  and  calling 
upon  him  for  assistance.  Just  to  look  at  Kinney, 
without  knowing  how  clever  he  is  at  getting  people 
out  of  their  difficulties,  he  does  not  appear  to  be  a 
man  to  whom  you  would  turn  in  time  of  trouble. 
You  would  think  women  in  distress  would  appeal 
to  some  one  bigger  and  stronger;  would  sooner 
ask  a  policeman.  But,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  to 
Kinney  that  women  always  run,  especially,  as  I 
have  said,  beautiful  women.  Nothing  of  the  sort 
ever  happens  to  me.  I  suppose,  as  Kinney  says, 
it  is  because  he  was  born  and  brought  up  in  New 
York  City  and  looks  and  acts  like  a  New  York 
man,  while  I,  until  a  year  ago,  have  always  lived 
at  Fairport.  Fairport  is  a  very  pretty  harbor,  but 
it  does  not  train  one  for  adventures.  We  arranged 
to  take  our  vacation  at  the  same  time,  and  together. 
At  least  Kinney  so  arranged  it.  I  see  a  good  deal 
of  him,  and  in  looking  forward  to  my  vacation,  not 
the  least  pleasant  feature  of  it  was  that  everything 
connected  with  Joyce  &  Carboy  and  Mrs.  Shaw's 
boarding-house  would  be  left  behind  me.  But 

196 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

when  Kinney  proposed  we  should  go  together,  I 
could  not  see  how,  without  being  rude,  I  could 
refuse  his  company,  and  when  he  pointed  out  that 
for  an  expedition  in  search  of  adventure  I  could 
not  select  a  better  guide,  I  felt  that  he  was  right. 

"Sometimes,"  he  said,  "I  can  see  you  don't 
believe  that  half  the  things  I  tell  you  have  hap 
pened  to  me,  really  have  happened.  Now,  isn't 
that  so  ? " 

To  find  the  answer  that  would  not  hurt  his 
feelings  I  hesitated,  but  he  did  not  wait  for  my 
answer.  He  seldom  does. 

"Well,"  on  this  trip,"  he  went  on,  "you  will 
see  Kinney  on  the  job.  You  won't  have  to  take 
my  word  for  it.  You  will  see  adventures  walk 
up  and  eat  out  of  my  hand." 

Our  vacation  came  on  the  first  of  September, 
but  we  began  to  plan  for  it  in  April,  and  up  to 
the  night  before  we  left  New  York  we  never  ceased 
planning.  Our  difficulty  was  that  having  been 
brought  up  at  Fairport,  which  is  on  the  Sound, 
north  of  New  London,  I  was  homesick  for  a 
smell  of  salt  marshes  and  for  the  sight  of  water 
and  ships.  Though  they  were  only  schooners  car 
rying  cement,  I  wanted  to  sit  in  the  sun  on  the 
string-piece  of  a  wharf  and  watch  them.  I  wanted 
to  beat  about  the  harbor  in  a  catboat,  and  feel  the 

197 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

tug  and  pull  of  the  tiller.  Kinney  protested  that 
that  was  no  way  to  spend  a  vacation  or  to  invite 
adventure.  His  face  was  set  against  Fairport. 
The  conversation  of  clam-diggers,  he  said,  did 
not  appeal  to  him;  and  he  complained  that  at 
Fairport  our  only  chance  of  adventure  would  be 
my  capsizing  the  catboat  or  robbing  a  lobster- 
pot.  He  insisted  we  should  go  to  the  moun 
tains,  where  we  would  meet  what  he  always  calls 
"our  best  people."  In  September,  he  explained, 
everybody  goes  to  the  mountains  to  recuperate 
after  the  enervating  atmosphere  of  the  sea-shore. 
To  this  I  objected  that  the  little  sea  air  we  had 
inhaled  at  Mrs.  Shaw's  basement  dining-room 
and  in  the  subway  need  cause  us  no  anxiety. 
And  so,  along  these  lines,  throughout  the  sleep 
less,  sultry  nights  of  June,  July,  and  August,  we 
fought  it  out.  There  was  not  a  summer  resort 
within  five  hundred  miles  of  New  York  City  we 
did  not  consider.  From  the  information  bureaus 
and  passenger  agents  of  every  railroad  leaving 
New  York,  Kinney  procured  a  library  of  time 
tables,  maps,  folders,  and  pamphlets,  illustrated 
with  the  most  attractive  pictures  of  summer 
hotels,  golf  links,  tennis  courts,  and  boat-houses. 
For  two  months  he  carried  on  a  correspondence 
with  the  proprietors  of  these  hotels;  and  in  com- 

198 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

paring  the  different  prices  they  asked  him  for 
suites  of  rooms  and  sun  parlors  derived  constant 
satisfaction. 

"The  Outlook  House,"  he  would  announce, 
"  wants  twenty-four  dollars  a  day  for  bedroom, 
parlor,  and  private  bath.  While  for  the  same 
accommodations  the  Carteret  Arms  asks  only 
twenty.  But  the  Carteret  has  no  tennis  court; 
and  then  again,  the  Outlook  has  no  garage,  nor 
are  dogs  allowed  in  the  bedrooms." 

As  Kinney  could  not  play  lawn  tennis,  and  as 
neither  of  us  owned  an  automobile  or  a  dog,  or 
twenty-four  dollars,  these  details  to  me  seemed 
superfluous,  but  there  was  no  health  in  pointing 
that  out  to  Kinney.  Because,  as  he  himself  says, 
he  has  so  vivid  an  imagination  that  what  he  lacks 
he  can  "make  believe"  he  has,  and  the  pleasure 
of  possession  is  his. 

Kinney  gives  a  great  deal  of  thought  to  his 
clothes,  and  the  question  of  what  he  should  wear 
on  his  vacation  was  upon  his  mind.  When  I 
said  I  thought  it  was  nothing  to  worry  about,  he 
snorted  indignantly.  "You  wouldn't!"  he  said. 
"If  I'd  been  brought  up  in  a  catboat,  and  had  a 
tan  like  a  red  Indian,  and  hair  like  a  Broadway 
blonde,  I  wouldn't  worry  either.  Mrs.  Shaw  says 
you  look  exactly  like  a  British  peer  in  disguise." 

199 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

I  had  never  seen  a  British  peer,  with  or  without 
his  disguise,  and  I  admit  I  was  interested. 

"Why  are  the  girls  in  this  house,"  demanded 
Kinney,  "always  running  to  your  room  to  borrow 
matches  ?  Because  they  admire  your  clothes?  If 
they're  crazy  about  clothes,  why  don't  they  come 
to  me  for  matches  ?" 

"You  are  always  out  at  night,"  I  said. 

"You  know  that's  not  the  answer/'  he  pro 
tested.  "Why  do  the  type-writer  girls  at  the 
office  always  go  to  you  to  sharpen  their  pencils 
and  tell  them  how  to  spell  the  hard  words  ?  Why 
do  the  girls  in  the  lunch-rooms  serve  you  first  ? 
Because  they're  hypnotized  by  your  clothes  ?  Is 
that  it?" 

"Do  they?"  I  asked;  "I  hadn't  noticed." 

Kinney  snorted  and  tossed  up  his  arms.  "He 
hadn't  noticed!"  he  kept  repeating.  "He  hadn't 
noticed!"  For  his  vacation  Kinney  bought  a 
second-hand  suit-case.  It  was  covered  with  labels 
of  hotels  in  France  and  Switzerland. 

"  Joe,"  I  said,  "if  you  carry  that  bag  you  will 
be  a  walking  falsehood." 

Kinney's  name  is  Joseph  Forbes  Kinney;  he 
dropped  the  Joseph  because  he  said  it  did  not 
appear  often  enough  in  the  Social  Register,  and 
could  be  found  only  in  the  Old  Testament,  and 

200 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

he  has  asked  me  to  call  him  Forbes.  Having 
first  known  him  as  "Joe,"  I  occasionally  for 
get. 

"My  name  is  not  Joe,"  he  said  sternly,  "and  I 
have  as  much  right  to  carry  a  second-hand  bag 
as  a  new  one.  The  bag  says  it  has  been  to  Eu 
rope.  It  does  not  say  that  /  have  been  there/' 

"But,  you  probably  will,"  I  pointed  out,  "and 
then  some  one  who  has  really  visited  those 
places " 

"Listen!"  commanded  Kinney.  "If  you  want 
adventures  you  must  be  somebody  of  importance. 
No  one  will  go  shares  in  an  adventure  with  Joe 
Kinney,  a  twenty-dollar-a-week  clerk,  the  human 
adding  machine,  the  hall-room  boy.  But  Forbes 
Kinney,  Esq.,  with  a  bag  from  Europe,  and  a 
Harvard  ribbon  round  his  hat " 

"Is  that  a  Harvard  ribbon  round  your  hat?'* 
I  asked. 

"It  is!"  declared  Kinney;  "and  I  have  a  Yale 
ribbon,  and  a  Turf  Club  ribbon,  too.  They 
come  on  hooks,  and  you  hook  'em  on  to  match 
your  clothes,  or  the  company  you  keep.  And, 
what's  more,"  he  continued,  with  some  heat, 
"  I've  borrowed  a  tennis  racket  and  a  golf  bag  full 
of  sticks,  and  you  take  care  you  don't  give  me 
away." 

20 1 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"I  see,"  I  returned,  "that  you  are  going  to  get 
us  into  a  lot  of  trouble." 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  Kinney,  looking  at  me 
rather  doubtfully,  "it  might  help  a  lot  if  for  the 
first  week  you  acted  as  my  secretary,  and  during 
the  second  week  I  was  your  secretary." 

Sometimes,  when  Mr.  Joyce  goes  on  a  busi 
ness  trip,  he  takes  me  with  him  as  his  private 
stenographer,  and  the  change  from  office  work 
is  very  pleasant;  but  I  could  not  see  why  I  should 
spend  one  week  of  my  holiday  writing  letters  for 
Kinney. 

"You  wouldn't  write  any  letters,"  he  explained. 
"But  if  I  could  tell  people  you  were  my  private 
secretary,  it  would  naturally  give  me  a  certain  im 
portance." 

"If  it  will  make  you  any  happier,"  I  said,  "you 
can  tell  people  I  am  a  British  peer  in  disguise." 

"There  is  no  use  in  being  nasty  about  it,"  pro 
tested  Kinney.  "I  am  only  trying  to  show  you  a 
way  that  would  lead  to  adventure." 

"It  surely  would !"  I  assented.  "It  would  lead 
us  to  jail." 

The  last  week  in  August  came,  and,  as  to 
where  we  were  to  go  we  still  were  undecided, 
I  suggested  we  leave  it  to  chance. 

"The   first  thing,"   I    pointed  out,   "is  to  get 

202 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

away  from  this  awful  city.  The  second  thing  is  to 
get  away  cheaply.  Let  us  write  down  the  names 
of  the  summer  resorts  to  which  we  can  travel 
by  rail  or  by  boat  for  two  dollars  and  put  them 
in  a  hat.  The  name  of  the  place  we  draw  will 
be  the  one  for  which  we  start  Saturday  after 
noon.  The  idea,"  I  urged,  "is  in  itself  full  of 
adventure." 

Kinney  agreed,  but  reluctantly.  What  chiefly 
disturbed  him  was  the  thought  that  the  places  near 
New  York  to  which  one  could  travel  for  so  little 
money  were  not  likely  to  be  fashionable. 

"I  have  a  terrible  fear,"  he  declared,  "that, 
with  this  limit  of  yours,  we  will  wake  up  in  Asbury 
Park." 

Friday  night  came  and  found  us  prepared  for 
departure,  and  at  midnight  we  held  our  lottery. 
In  a  pillow-case  we  placed  twenty  slips  of  paper, 
on  each  of  which  was  written  the  name  of  a 
summer  resort.  Ten  of  these  places  were  selected 
by  Kinney,  and  ten  by  myself.  Kinney  dramati 
cally  rolled  up  his  sleeve,  and,  plunging  his  bared 
arm  into  our  grab-bag,  drew  out  a  slip  of  paper 
and  read  aloud:  "New  Bedford,  via  New  Bed 
ford  Steamboat  Line."  The  choice  was  one  of 
mine. 

"New  Bedford!"  shouted  Kinney.  His  tone  ex- 
203 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

pressed  the  keenest  disappointment.  "It's  a  mill 
town!"  he  exclaimed.  "It's  full  of  cotton  mills." 

"That  may  be,"  I  protested.  "But  it's  also 
a  most  picturesque  old  seaport,  one  of  the  oldest 
in  America.  You  can  see  whaling  vessels  at 
the  wharfs  there,  and  wooden  figure-heads,  and 
harpoons " 

"Is  this  an  expedition  to  dig  up  buried  cities," 
interrupted  Kinney,  "or  a  pleasure  trip  ?  I  don't 
want  to  see  harpoons!  I  wouldn't  know  a  har 
poon  if  you  stuck  one  into  me.  I  prefer  to  see 
hatpins." 

The  Patience  did  not  sail  until  six  o'clock,  but 
we  were  so  anxious  to  put  New  York  behind  us 
that  at  five  we  were  on  board.  Our  cabin  was 
an  outside  one  with  two  berths.  After  placing 
our  suit-cases  in  it,  we  collected  camp-chairs  and 
settled  ourselves  in  a  cool  place  on  the  boat  deck. 
Kinney  had  bought  all  the  afternoon  papers,  and, 
as  later  I  had  reason  to  remember,  was  greatly 
interested  over  the  fact  that  the  young  Earl  of 
Ivy  had  at  last  arrived  in  this  country.  For 
some  weeks  the  papers  had  been  giving  more 
space  than  seemed  necessary  to  that  young  Irish 
man  and  to  the  young  lady  he  was  coming  over 
to  marry.  There  had  been  pictures  of  his  differ 
ent  country  houses,  pictures  of  himself;  in  uni- 

204 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

form,  in  the  robes  he  wore  at  the  coronation,  on  a 
polo  pony,  as  Master  of  Fox-hounds.  And  there 
had  been  pictures  of  Miss  Aldrich,  and  of  her 
country  places  at  Newport  and  on  the  Hudson. 
From  the  afternoon  papers  Kinney  learned  that, 
having  sailed  under  his  family  name  of  Meehan, 
the  young  man  and  Lady  Moya,  his  sister,  had 
that  morning  landed  in  New  York,  but  before  the 
reporters  had  discovered  them,  had  escaped  from 
the  wharf  and  disappeared. 

"'Inquiries  at  the  different  hotels,'"  read  Kin 
ney  impressively,  " '  failed  to  establish  the  where 
abouts  of  his  lordship  and  Lady  Moya,  and  it  is 
believed  they  at  once  left  by  train  for  Newport/ ' 

With  awe  Kinney  pointed  at  the  red  funnels  of 
the  Mauretama. 

"There  is  the  boat  that  brought  them  to 
America,"  he  said.  "I  see,"  he  added,  "that  in 
this  picture  of  him  playing  golf  he  wears  one  of 
those  knit  jackets  the  Eiselbaum  has  just  marked 
down  to  three  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents.  I 
wish — "  he  added  regretfully. 

"You  can  get  one  at  New  Bedford,"  I  sug 
gested. 

"I  wish,"  he  continued,  "we  had  gone  to  New 
port.  All  of  our  best  people  will  be  there  for  the 
wedding.  It  is  the  most  important  social  event 

205 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

of  the  season.     You  might  almost  call  it  an  alli 


ance." 


I  went  forward  to  watch  them  take  on  the 
freight,  and  Kinney  stationed  himself  at  the  rail 
above  the  passengers'  gangway  where  he  could 
see  the  other  passengers  arrive.  He  had  dressed 
himself  with  much  care,  and  was  wearing  his 
Yale  hat-band,  but  when  a  very  smart-looking 
youth  came  up  the  gangplank  wearing  a  Harvard 
ribbon,  Kinney  hastily  retired  to  our  cabin  and 
returned  with  one  like  it.  A  few  minutes  later  I 
found  him  and  the  young  man  seated  in  camp- 
chairs  side  by  side  engaged  in  a  conversation  in 
which  Kinney  seemed  to  bear  the  greater  part. 
Indeed,  to  what  Kinney  was  saying  the  young 
man  paid  not  the  slightest  attention.  Instead, 
his  eyes  were  fastened  on  the  gangplank  be 
low,  and  when  a  young  man  of  his  own  age, 
accompanied  by  a  girl  in  a  dress  of  rough  tweed, 
appeared  upon  it,  he  leaped  from  his  seat. 
Then  with  a  conscious  look  at  Kinney,  sank 
back. 

The  girl  in  the  tweed  suit  was  sufficiently  beau 
tiful  to  cause  any  man  to  rise  and  to  remain  stand 
ing.  She  was  the  most  beautiful  girl  I  had  ever 
seen.  She  had  gray  eyes  and  hair  like  golden-rod, 
worn  in  a  fashion  with  which  I  was  not  familiar, 

206 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

and  her  face  was  so  lovely  that  in  my  surprise  at 
the  sight  of  it,  I  felt  a  sudden  catch  at  my  throat, 
and  my  heart  stopped  with  awe,  and  wonder,  and 
gratitude. 

After  a  brief  moment  the  young  man  in  the  real 
Harvard  hat-band  rose  restlessly  and,  with  a  nod 
to  Kinney,  went  below.  I  also  rose  and  followed 
him.  I  had  an  uncontrollable  desire  to  again  look 
at  the  girl  with  the  golden-rod  hair.  1  did  not 
mean  that  she  should  see  me.  Never  before  had 
I  done  such  a  thing.  But  never  before  had  I  seen 
any  one  who  had  moved  me  so  strangely.  Seek 
ing  her,  I  walked  the  length  of  the  main  saloon 
and  back  again,  but  could  i.Dt  find  her.  The  de 
lay  gave  me  time  to  see  that  my  conduct  was  im 
pertinent.  The  very  fact  that  she  was  so  lovely  to 
look  upon  should  have  been  her  protection.  It 
afforded  me  no  excuse  to  follow  and  spy  upon 
her.  With  this  thought,  I  hastily  returned  to  the 
upper  deck  to  bury  myself  in  my  book.  If  it  did 
not  serve  to  keep  my  mind  from  the  young  lady, 
at  least  I  would  prevent  my  eyes  from  causing  her 
annoyance. 

I  was  about  to  take  the  chair  that  the  young 
man  had  left  vacant  when  Kinney  objected. 

"He  was  very  much  interested  in  our  conver 
sation,"  Kinney  said,  "and  he  may  return." 

207 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

I  had  not  noticed  any  eagerness  on  the  part  of 
the  young  man  to  talk  to  Kinney  or  to  listen  to 
him,  but  I  did  not  sit  down. 

"I  should  not  be  surprised  a  bit,"  said  Kinney, 
"if  that  young  man  is  no  end  of  a  swell.  He  is 
a  Harvard  man,  and  his  manner  was  most  polite. 
That,"  explained  Kinney,  "is  one  way  you  can 
always  tell  a  real  swell.  They're  not  high  and 
mighty  with  you.  Their  social  position  is  so  secure 
that  they  can  do  as  they  like.  For  instance,  did 
you  notice  that  he  smoked  a  pipe  ?" 

I  said  I  had  not  noticed  it. 

For  his  holiday  Kinney  had  purchased  a  box 
of  cigars  of  a  quality  more  expensive  than  those 
he  can  usually  afford.  He  was  smoking  one  of 
them  at  the  moment,  and,  as  it  grew  less,  had 
been  carefully  moving  the  gold  band  with  which 
it  was  encircled  from  the  lighted  end.  But  as  he 
spoke  he  regarded  it  apparently  with  distaste, 
and  then  dropped  it  overboard. 

"Keep  my  chair,"  he  said,  rising.  "I  am  going 
to  my  cabin  to  get  my  pipe."  I  sat  down  and  fas 
tened  my  eyes  upon  my  book;  but  neither  did  I 
understand  what  I  was  reading  nor  see  the  printed 
page.  Instead,  before  my  eyes,  confusing  and 
blinding  me,  was  the  lovely,  radiant  face  of  the 
beautiful  lady.  In  perplexity  I  looked  up,  and 

208 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

found  her  standing  not  two  feet  from  me.  Some 
thing  pulled  me  out  of  my  chair.  Something 
made  me  move  it  toward  her.  I  lifted  my  hat 
and  backed  away.  But  the  eyes  of  the  lovely 
lady  halted  me. 

To  my  perplexity,  her  face  expressed  both  sur 
prise  and  pleasure.  It  was  as  though  either 
she  thought  she  knew  me,  or  that  I  reminded 
her  of  some  man  she  did  know.  Were  the  latter 
the  case,  he  must  have  been  a  friend,  for  the  way 
in  which  she  looked  at  me  was  kind.  And  there 
was,  besides,  the  expression  of  surprise  and  as 
though  something  she  saw  pleased  her.  Maybe 
it  was  the  quickness  with  which  I  had  offered 
my  chair.  Still  looking  at  me,  she  pointed  to  one 
of  the  sky-scrapers. 

"Could  you  tell  me,"  she  asked,  "the  name  of 
that  building?"  Had  her  question  not  proved  it, 
her  voice  would  have  told  me  not  only  that  she 
was  a  stranger,  but  that  she  was  Irish.  It  was 
particularly  soft,  low,  and  vibrant.  It  made  the 
commonplace  question  she  asked  sound  as  though 
she  had  sung  it.  I  told  her  the  name  of  the  build 
ing,  and  that  farther  uptown,  as  she  would  see 
when  we  moved  into  midstream,  there  was  another 
still  taller.  She  listened,  regarding  me  brightly, 
as  though  interested;  but  before  her  I  was  em- 

209 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

barrassed,  and,  fearing  I  intruded,  I  again  made  a 
movement  to  go  away.  With  another  question  she 
stopped  me.  I  could  see  no  reason  for  her  doing 
so,  but  it  was  almost  as  though  she  had  asked 
the  question  only  to  detain  me. 

"What  is  that  odd  boat/'  she  said,  "pumping 
water  into  the  river  ? " 

I  explained  that  it  was  a  fire-boat  testing  her 
hose-lines,  and  then  as  we  moved  into  the  channel 
I  gained  courage,  and  found  myself  pointing  out 
the  Statue  of  Liberty,  Governors  Island,  and  the 
Brooklyn  Bridge.  The  fact  that  it  was  a  stranger 
who  was  talking  did  not  seem  to  disturb  her.  I 
cannot  tell  how  she  conveyed  the  idea,  but  I  soon 
felt  that  she  felt,  no  matter  what  unconventional 
thing  she  chose  to  do,  people  would  not  be  rude, 
or  misunderstand. 

I  considered  telling  her  my  name.  At  first  it 
seemed  that  that  would  be  more  polite.  Then  I 
saw  to  do  so  would  be  forcing  myself  upon  her, 
that  she  was  interested  in  me  only  as  a  guide  to 
New  York  Harbor. 

When  we  passed  the  Brooklyn  Navy  Yard  I 
talked  so  much  and  so  eagerly  of  the  battle-ships 
at  anchor  there  that  the  lady  must  have  thought 
I  had  followed  the  sea,  for  she  asked:  "Are  you 
a  sailorman  ? " 

210 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

It  was  the  first  question  that  was  in  any  way 
personal. 

"I  used  to  sail  a  catboat,"  I  said. 

My  answer  seemed  to  puzzle  her,  and  she 
frowned.  Then  she  laughed  delightedly,  like  one 
having  made  a  discovery. 

"You  don't  say  'sailorman,'"  she  said.  "What 
do  you  ask,  over  here,  when  you  want  to  know  if 
a  man  is  in  the  navy  ?" 

She  spoke  as  though  we  were  talking  a  different 
language. 

"We  ask  if  he  is  in  the  navy,"  I  answered. 

She  laughed  again  at  that,  quite  as  though  I 
had  said  something  clever. 

"And  you  are  not?" 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  am  in  Joyce  &  Carboy's  office. 
I  am  a  stenographer." 

Again  my  answer  seemed  both  to  puzzle  and  to 
surprise  her.  She  regarded  me  doubtfully.  I 
could  see  that  she  thought,  for  some  reason,  I 
was  misleading  her. 

"In  an  office  ?"  she  repeated.  Then,  as  though 
she  had  caught  me,  she  said:  "How  do  you  keep 
so  fit?"  She  asked  the  question  directly,  as  a 
man  would  have  asked  it,  and  as  she  spoke  I  was 
conscious  that  her  eyes  were  measuring  me  and 
my  shoulders,  as  though  she  were  wondering  to 
what  weight  I  could  strip. 


211 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"It's  only  lately  I've  worked  in  an  office/'  I 
said.  "Before  that  I  always  worked  out-of-doors; 
oystering  and  clamming  and,  in  the  fall,  scallop 
ing.  And  in  the  summer  I  played  ball  on  a  hotel 


nine." 


I  saw  that  to  the  beautiful  lady  my  explanation 
carried  no  meaning  whatsoever,  but  before  I  could 
-explain,  the  young  man  with  whom  she  had  come 
on  board  walked  toward  us. 

Neither  did  he  appear  to  find  in  her  talking 
to  a  stranger  anything  embarrassing.  He  halted 
and  smiled.  His  smile  was  pleasant,  but  entirely 
vague.  In  the  few  minutes  I  was  with  him,  I 
learned  that  it  was  no  sign  that  he  was  secretly 
pleased.  It  was  merely  his  expression.  It  was 
as  though  a  photographer  had  said:  "Smile, 
please,"  and  he  had  smiled. 

When  he  joined  us,  out  of  deference  to  the 
young  lady  I  raised  my  hat,  but  the  youth  did  not 
seem  to  think  that  outward  show  of  respect  was 
necessary,  and  kept  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
Neither  did  he  cease  smoking.  His  first  remark 
to  the  lovely  lady  somewhat  startled  me. 

"Have  you  got  a  brass  bed  in  your  room  ?"  he 
asked.  The  beautiful  lady  said  she  had. 

"So've  I,"  said  the  young  man.  "They  do 
you  rather  well,  don't  they  ?  And  it's  only  three 
•dollars.  How  much  is  that  ?" 

212 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

"Four  times  three  would  be  twelve,"  said  the 
lady.  "Twelve  shillings." 

The  young  man  was  smoking  a  cigarette  in  a 
long  amber  cigarette-holder.  I  never  had  seen 
one  so  long.  He  examined  the  end  of  his  cigar 
ette-holder,  and,  apparently  surprised  and  relieved 
at  finding  a  cigarette  there,  again  smiled  con 
tentedly. 

The  lovely  lady  pointed  at  the  marble  shaft  ris 
ing  above  Madison  Square. 

"That  is  the  tallest  sky-scraper,"  she  said,  "in 
New  York."  I  had  just  informed  her  of  that  fact. 
The  young  man  smiled  as  though  he  were  being  in 
troduced  to  the  building,  but  exhibited  no  interest. 

"Is  it?"  he  remarked.  His  tone  seemed  to 
show  that  had  she  said,  "That  is  a  rabbit,"  he 
would  have  been  equally  gratified. 

"Some  day,"  he  stated,  with  the  same  startling 
abruptness  with  which  he  had  made  his  first 
remark,  "our  war-ships  will  lift  the  roofs  off  those 
sky-scrapers." 

The  remark  struck  me  in  the  wrong  place.  It 
was  unnecessary.  Already  I  resented  the  manner 
of  the  young  man  toward  the  lovely  lady.  It 
seemed  to  me  lacking  in  courtesy.  He  knew  her, 
and  yet  treated  her  with  no  deference,  while  I,  a 
stranger,  felt  so  grateful  to  her  for  being  what  I 

213 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

knew  one  with  such  a  face  must  be,  that  I  could 
have  knelt  at  her  feet.  So  I  rather  resented  the 
remark. 

"If  the  war-ships  you  send  over  here,"  I  said 
doubtfully,  "  aren't  more  successful  in  lifting  things 
than  your  yachts,  you'd  better  keep  them  at  home 
and  save  coal!" 

Seldom  have  I  made  so  long  a  speech  or  so 
rude  a  speech,  and  as  soon  as  I  had  spoken,  on 
account  of  the  lovely  lady,  I  was  sorry. 

But  after  a  pause  of  half  a  second  she  laughed 
delightedly. 

"I  see,"  she  cried,  as  though  it  were  a  sort  of  a 
game.  "He  means  Lipton!  We  can't  lift  the  cup, 
we  can't  lift  the  roofs.  Don't  you  see,  Stumps!" 
she  urged.  In  spite  of  my  rude  remark,  the  young 
man  she  called  Stumps  had  continued  to  smile  hap 
pily.  Now  his  expression  changed  to  one  of  dis 
comfort  and  utter  gloom,  and  then  broke  out  into 
a  radiant  smile. 

"I  say!"  he  cried.  "That's  awfully  good:  'If 
your  war-ships  aren't  any  better  at  lifting  things — ' 
Oh,  I  say,  really,"  he  protested,  "that's  awfully 
good."  He  seemed  to  be  afraid  I  would  not  ap 
preciate  the  rare  excellence  of  my  speech.  "You 
know,  really,"  he  pleaded,  "it  is  awfully  good!" 

We  were  interrupted  by  the  sudden  appear- 
214 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

ancc,  in  opposite  directions,  of  Kinney  and  the 
young  man  with  the  real  hat-band.  Both  were 
excited  and  disturbed.  At  the  sight  of  the  young 
man,  Stumps  turned  appealingly  to  the  golden- 
rod  girl.  He  groaned  aloud,  and  his  expression 
was  that  of  a  boy  who  had  been  caught  playing 
truant. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  he  exclaimed,  "what's  he  huffy 
about  now  ?  He  told  me  I  could  come  on  deck  as 
soon  as  we  started." 

The  girl  turned  upon  me  a  sweet  and  lovely 
smile  and  nodded.  Then,  with  Stumps  at  her 
side,  she  moved  to  meet  the  young  man.  When 
he  saw  them  coming  he  halted,  and,  when  they 
joined  him,  began  talking  earnestly,  almost  an 
grily.  As  he  did  so,  much  to  my  bewilderment, 
he  glared  at  me.  At  the  same  moment  Kinney 
grabbed  me  by  the  arm. 

"Come  below!"  he  commanded.  His  tone  was 
hoarse  and  thrilling  with  excitement. 

"Our  adventures,"  he  whispered,  "have  begun!" 

II 

I  felt,  for  me,  adventures  had  already  begun, 
for  my  meeting  with  the  beautiful  lady  was  the 
event  of  my  life,  and  though  Kinney  and  I  had 

215 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

agreed  to  share  our  adventures,  of  this  one  I  knew 
I  could  not  even  speak  to  him.  I  wanted  to  be 
alone,  where  I  could  delight  in  it,  where  I  could 
go  over  what  she  had  said;  what  I  had  said.  I 
would  share  it  with  no  one.  It  was  too  wonder 
ful,  too  sacred.  But  Kinney  would  not  be  denied. 
He  led  me  to  our  cabin  and  locked  the  door. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  began,  "but  this  adventure  is 
one  I  cannot  share  with  you/'  The  remark  was 
so  in  keeping  with  my  own  thoughts  that  with 
sudden  unhappy  doubt  I  wondered  if  Kinney,  too, 
had  felt  the  charm  of  the  beautiful  lady.  But  he 
quickly  undeceived  me. 

"I  have  been  doing  a  little  detective  work,"  he 
said.  His  voice  was  low  and  sepulchral.  "And 
I  have  come  upon  a  real  adventure.  There  are 
reasons  why  I  cannot  share  it  with  you,  but  as  it 
develops  you  can  follow  it.  About  half  an  hour 
ago,"  he  explained,  "I  came  here  to  get  my  pipe. 
The  window  was  open.  The  lattice  was  only 
partly  closed.  Outside  was  that  young  man  from 
Harvard  who  tried  to  make  my  acquaintance, 
and  the  young  Englishman  who  came  on  board 
with  that  blonde."  Kinney  suddenly  interrupted 
himself.  "You  were  talking  to  her  just  now," 
he  said.  I  hated  to  hear  him  speak  of  the  Irish 
lady  as  "that  blonde."  I  hated  to  hear  him 

216 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

speak  of  her  at  all.  So,  to  shut  him  off,  I  an 
swered  briefly:  "She  asked  me  about  the  Singer 
Building." 

"I  see,"  said  Kinney.  "Well,  these  two  men 
were  just  outside  my  window,  and,  while  I  was 
searching  for  my  pipe,  I  heard  the  American 
speaking.  He  was  very  excited  and  angry.  'I 
tell  you/  he  said,  'every  boat  and  railroad  sta 
tion  is  watched.  You  won't  be  safe  till  we  get 
away  from  New  York.  You  must  go  to  your 
cabin,  and  stay  there/  And  the  other  one  an 
swered:  'I  am  sick  of  hiding  and  dodging."' 

Kinney  paused  dramatically  and  frowned. 

"Well,"  I  asked,  "what  of  it?" 

"What  of  it?"  he  cried.  He  exclaimed  aloud 
with  pity  and  impatience. 

"No  wonder,"  he  cried,  "you  never  have  ad 
ventures.  Why,  it's  plain  as  print.  They  are 
criminals  escaping.  The  Englishman  certainly  is 
escaping." 

I  was  concerned  only  for  the  lovely  lady,  but  I 
asked:  "You  mean  the  Irishman  called  Stumps  ?" 

"  Stumps ! "  exclaimed  Kinney.  "  What  a  strange 
name.  Too  strange  to  be  true.  It's  an  alias  1" 
I  was  incensed  that  Kinney  should  charge  the 
friends  of  the  lovely  lady  with  being  criminals.. 
Had  it  been  any  one  else  I  would  have  at  once 

217 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

resented  it,  but  to  be  angry  with  Kinney  is  diffi 
cult.  I  could  not  help  but  remember  that  he  is 
the  slave  of  his  own  imagination.  It  plays  tricks 
and  runs  away  with  him.  And  if  it  leads  him  to 
believe  innocent  people  are  criminals,  it  also  leads 
him  to  believe  that  every  woman  in  the  Subway  to 
whom  he  gives  his  seat  is  a  great  lady,  a  leader 
of  society  on  her  way  to  work  in  the  slums. 

"Joe!"  I  protested.  "Those  men  aren't  crim 
inals.  I  talked  to  that  Irishman,  and  he  hasn't 
sense  enough  to  be  a  criminal." 

"The  railroads  are  watched,"  repeated  Kinney. 
"Do  honest  men  care  a  darn  whether  the  railroad 
is  watched  or  not  ?  Do  you  care  ?  Do  I  care  ? 
And  did  you  notice  how  angry  the  American  got 
when  he  found  Stumps  talking  with  you  ?" 

I  had  noticed  it;  and  I  also  recalled  the  fact 
that  Stumps  had  said  to  the  lovely  lady:  "He  told 
me  I  could  come  on  deck  as  soon  as  we  started." 

The  words  seemed  to  bear  out  what  Kinney 
claimed  he  had  overheard.  But  not  wishing  to 
encourage  him,  of  what  I  had  heard  I  said  nothing. 

"He  may  be  dodging  a  summons,"  I  suggested. 
"He  is  wanted,  probably,  only  as  a  witness.  It 
might  be  a  civil  suit,  or  his  chauffeur  may  have 
hit  somebody." 

Kinney  shook  his  head  sadly. 
218 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said,  "but  I  fear  you  lack  im 
agination.  Those  men  are  rascals,  dangerous  ras 
cals,  and  the  woman  is  their  accomplice.  What 
they  have  done  I  don't  know,  but  I  have  already 
learned  enough  to  arrest  them  as  suspicious  char 
acters.  Listen!  Each  of  them  has  a  separate 
state-room  forward.  The  window  of  the  Ameri 
can's  room  was  open,  and  his  suit-case  was  on  the 
bed.  On  it  were  the  initials  H.  P.  A.  The  state 
room  is  number  twenty-four,  but  when  I  exam 
ined  the  purser's  list,  pretending  I  wished  to  find 
out  if  a  friend  of  mine  was  on  board,  I  found 
that  the  man  in  twenty-four  had  given  his  name 
as  James  Preston.  Now,"  he  demanded,  "why 
should  one  of  them  hide  under  an  alias  and  the 
other  be  afraid  to  show  himself  until  we  leave  the 
wharf?"  He  did  not  wait  for  my  answer.  "I 
have  been  talking  to  Mr.  H.  P.  A.,  alias  Preston," 
he  continued.  "I  pretended  I  was  a  person  of 
some  importance.  I  hinted  I  was  rich.  My  ob 
ject,"  Kinney  added  hastily,  "was  to  encourage 
him  to  try  some  of  his  tricks  on  me;  to  try  to  rob 
me;  so  that  I  could  obtain  evidence.  I  also,"  he 
went  on,  with  some  embarrassment,  "told  him  that 
you,  too,  were  wealthy  and  of  some  importance." 

I  thought  of  the  lovely  lady,  and  I  felt  myself 
blushing  indignantly. 

219 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"You  did  very  wrong,"  I  cried;  "you  had  no 
right!  You  may  involve  us  both  most  unpleas 
antly/' 

"You  are  not  involved  in  any  way,"  protested 
Kinney.  "As  soon  as  we  reach  New  Bedford 
you  can  slip  on  shore  and  wait  for  me  at  the  hotel. 
When  I've  finished  with  these  gentlemen,  I'll  join 
you." 

"Finished  with  them!"  I  exclaimed.  "What 
do  you  mean  to  do  to  them  ?" 

"Arrest  them!"  cried  Kinney  sternly,  "as  soon 
as  they  step  upon  the  wharf!" 

"You  can't  do  it!"  I  gasped. 

"I  have  done  it!"  answered  Kinney.  "It's 
good  as  done.  I  have  notified  the  chief  of  police 
at  New  Bedford,"  he  declared  proudly,  "to  meet 
me  at  the  wharf.  I  used  the  wireless.  Here  is 
my  message." 

From  his  pocket  he  produced  a  paper  and,  with 
great  importance,  read  aloud:  "Meet  me  at 
wharf  on  arrival  steamer  Patience.  Two  well- 
known  criminals  on  board  escaping  New  York 
police.  Will  personally  lay  charges  against  them. 
— Forbes  Kinney." 

As  soon  as  I  could  recover  from  my  surprise, 
I  made  violent  protest.  I  pointed  out  to  Kinney 
that  his  conduct  was  outrageous,  that  in  making 

220 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

such  serious  charges,  on  such  evidence,  he  would 
lay  himself  open  to  punishment. 

He  was  not  in  the  least  dismayed. 

"I  take  it  then,"  he  said  importantly,  "that  you 
do  not  wish  to  appear  against  them  ?" 

"I  don't  wish  to  appear  in  it  at  all!"  I  cried. 
"  You've  no  right  to  annoy  that  young  lady.  You 
must  wire  the  police  you  are  mistaken." 

"I  have  no  desire  to  arrest  the  woman,"  said 
Kinney  stiffly.  "In  my  message  I  did  not  men 
tion  her.  If  you  want  an  adventure  of  your  own, 
you  might  help  her  to  escape  while  I  arrest  her 
accomplices." 

"I  object,"  I  cried,  "to  your  applying  the  word 
'accomplice'  to  that  young  lady.  And  suppose 
they  are  criminals,"  I  demanded,  "how  will  arrest 
ing  them  help  you  ?" 

Kinney's  eyes  flashed  with  excitement. 

"Think  of  the  newspapers,"  he  cried;  "they'll 
be  full  of  it!"  Already  in  imagination  he  saw 
the  headlines.  "'A  Clever  Haul!'"  he  quoted. 
"*  Noted  band  of  crooks  elude  New  York  police, 
but  are  captured  by  Forbes  Kinney."  He  sighed 
contentedly.  "And  they'll  probably  print  my 
picture,  too,"  he  added. 

I  knew  I  should  be  angry  with  him,  but  instead 
I  could  only  feel  sorry.  I  have  known  Kinney 

221 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

for  a  year,  and  I  have  learned  that  his  "make- 
believe"  is  always  innocent.  I  suppose  that  he 
is  what  is  called  a  snob,  but  with  him  snobbish 
ness  is  not  an  unpleasant  weakness.  In  his  case 
it  takes  the  form  of  thinking  that  people  who  have 
certain  things  he  does  not  possess  are  better  than 
himself;  and  that,  therefore,  they  must  be  worth 
knowing,  and  he  tries  to  make  their  acquaintance. 
But  he  does  not  think  that  he  himself  is  better 
than  any  one.  His  life  is  very  bare  and  narrow. 
In  consequence,  on  many  things  he  places  false 
values.  As,  for  example,  his  desire  to  see  his 
name  in  the  newspapers  even  as  an  amateur  de 
tective.  So,  while  I  was  indignant  I  also  was  sorry. 

"Joe,"  I  said,  "you're  going  to  get  yourself 
into  an  awful  lot  of  trouble,  and  though  I  am  not 
in  this  adventure,  you  know  if  I  can  help  you  I 
will." 

He  thanked  me  and  we  went  to  the  dining- 
saloon.  There,  at  a  table  near  ours,  we  saw  the 
lovely  lady  and  Stumps  and  the  American.  She 
again  smiled  at  me,  but  this  time,  so  it  seemed,  a 
little  doubtfully. 

In  the  mind  of  the  American,  on  the  contrary, 
there  was  no  doubt.  He  glared  both  at  Kinney 
and  myself,  as  though  he  would  like  to  boil  us  in  oil. 

After  dinner,  in  spite  of  my  protests,  Kinney  set 

222 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

forth  to  interview  him  and,  as  he  described  it,  to 
"lead  him  on"  to  commit  himself.  I  feared  Kin- 
ney  was  much  more  likely  to  commit  himself  than 
the  other,  and  when  I  saw  them  seated  together  I 
watched  from  a  distance  with  much  anxiety. 

An  hour  later,  while  I  was  alone,  a  steward  told 
me  the  purser  would  like  to  see  me.  I  went  to  his 
office,  and  found  gathered  there  Stumps,  his  Amer 
ican  friend,  the  night  watchman  of  the  boat,  and 
the  purser.  As  though  inviting  him  to  speak,  the 
purser  nodded  to  the  American.  That  gentleman 
addressed  me  in  an  excited  and  belligerent  manner. 

"My  name  is  Aldrich,"  he  said;  "I  want  to 
know  what  your  name  is  ?" 

I  did  not  quite  like  his  tone,  nor  did  I  like  being 
summoned  to  the  purser's  office  to  be  questioned 
by  a  stranger. 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"Because,"  said  Aldrich,  "it  seems  you  have 
several  names.  As  one  of  them  belongs  to  this 
gentleman" — he  pointed  at  Stumps — "he  wants 
to  know  why  you  are  using  it." 

I  looked  at  Stumps  and  he  greeted  me  with  the 
vague  and  genial  smile  that  was  habitual  to  him,, 
but  on  being  caught  in  the  act  by  Aldrich  he  hur 
riedly  frowned. 

"I  have  never  used  any  name  but  my  own,"  I 
223 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

said;  "and,"  I  added  pleasantly,  "if  I  were  choos 
ing  a  name  I  wouldn't  choose  'Stumps.'" 

Aldrich  fairly  gasped. 

"His  name  is  not  Stumps!"  he  cried  indig 
nantly.  "He  is  the  Earl  of  Ivy!" 

He  evidently  expected  me  to  be  surprised  at 
this,  and  I  was  surprised.  I  stared  at  the  much- 
advertised  young  Irishman  with  interest. 

Aldrich  misunderstood  my  silence,  and  in  a  tri 
umphant  tone,  which  was  far  from  pleasant,  con 
tinued:  "So  you  see,"  he  sneered,  "when  you 
chose  to  pass  yourself  off  as  Ivy  you  should  have 
picked  out  another  boat." 

The  thing  was  too  absurd  for  me  to  be  angry, 
and  I  demanded  with  patience:  "But  why  should 
I  pass  myself  off  as  Lord  Ivy  ?" 

"That's  what  we  intend  to  find  out,"  snapped 
Aldrich.  "Anyway,  we've  stopped  your  game  for 
to-night,  and  to-morrow  you  can  explain  to  the 
police!  Your  pal,"  he  taunted,  "has  told  every 
one  on  this  boat  that  you  are  Lord  Ivy,  and  he's 
told  me  lies  enough  about  himself  to  prove  he's 
an  impostor,  too!" 

I  saw  what  had  happened,  and  that  if  I  were  to 
protect  poor  Kinney  I  must  not,  as  I  felt  inclined, 
use  my  fists,  but  my  head.  I  laughed  with  ap 
parent  unconcern,  and  turned  to  the  purser. 

224 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

"Oh,  that's  it,  is  it?"  I  cried.  "I  might  have 
known  it  was  Kinney;  he's  always  playing  prac 
tical  jokes  on  me."  I  turned  to  Aldrich.  "My 
friend  has  been  playing  a  joke  on  you,  too,"  I 
said.  "He  didn't  know  who  you  were,  but  he 
saw  you  were  an  Anglomaniac,  and  he's  been 
having  fun  with  you!" 

"Has  he?"  roared  Aldrich.  He  reached  down 
into  his  pocket  and  pulled  out  a  piece  of  paper. 
"This,"  he  cried,  shaking  it  at  me,  "is  a  copy  of  a 
wireless  that  I've  just  sent  to  the  chief  of  police  at 
New  Bedford." 

With  great  satisfaction  he  read  it  in  a  loud  and 
threatening  voice:  "Two  impostors  on  this  boat 
representing  themselves  to  be  Lord  Ivy,  my  future 
brother-in-law,  and  his  secretary.  Lord  Ivy  him 
self  on  board.  Send  police  to  meet  boat.  We  will 
make  charges. — Henry  Philip  Aldrich." 

It  occurred  to  me  that  after  receiving  two  such 
sensational  telegrams,  and  getting  out  of  bed  to 
meet  the  boat  at  six  in  the  morning,  the  chief  of 
police  would  be  in  a  state  of  mind  to  arrest  almost 
anybody,  and  that  his  choice  would  certainly  fall 
on  Kinney  and  myself.  It  was  ridiculous,  but  it 
also  was  likely  to  prove  extremely  humiliating. 
So  I  said,  speaking  to  Lord  Ivy:  "There's  been  a 
mistake  all  around;  send  for  Mr.  Kinney  and  I 

225 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

will  explain  it  to  you."  Lord  Ivy,  who  was 
looking  extremely  bored,  smiled  and  nodded,  but 
young  Aldrich  laughed  ironically. 

"Mr.  Kinney  is  in  his  state-room,"  he  said, 
"with  a  steward  guarding  the  door  and  window. 
You  can  explain  to-morrow  to  the  police." 

I  rounded  indignantly  upon  the  purser. 

"Are  you  keeping  Mr.  Kinney  a  prisoner  in  his 
state-room  ?"  I  demanded.  "If  you  are " 

"He  doesn't  have  to  stay  there,"  protested  the 
purser  sulkily.  "When  he  found  the  stewards 
were  following  him  he  went  to  his  cabin." 

"I  will  see  him  at  once,"  I  said.  "And  if  I 
catch  any  of  your  stewards  following  me,  I'll  drop 
them  overboard." 

No  one  tried  to  stop  me — indeed,  knowing  I 
could  not  escape,  they  seemed  pleased  at  my 
departure,  and  I  went  to  my  cabin. 

Kinney,  seated  on  the  edge  of  the  berth,  greeted 
me  with  a  hollow  groan.  His  expression  was  one 
of  utter  misery.  As  though  begging  me  not  to  be 
angry,  he  threw  out  his  arms  appealingly. 

"How  the  devil!"  he  began,  "was  I  to  know 
that  a  little  red-headed  shrimp  like  that  was  the 
Earl  of  Ivy  ?  And  that  that  tall  blonde  girl,"  he 
added  indignantly,  "that  I  thought  was  an  accom 
plice,  is  Lady  Moya,  his  sister  ?" 

226 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

"What  happened?"  I  asked. 

Kinney  was  wearing  his  hat.  He  took  it  off 
and  hurled  it  to  the  floor. 

"It  was  that  damned  hat!"  he  cried.  "It's  a 
Harvard  ribbon,  all  right,  but  only  men  on  the 
crew  can  wear  it!  How  was  I  to  know  that?  I 
saw  Aldrich  looking  at  it  in  a  puzzled  way,  and 
when  he  said,  'I  see  you  are  on  the  crew,'  I 
guessed  what  it  meant,  and  said  I  was  on  last 
year's  crew.  Unfortunately  he  was  on  last  year's 
crew!  That's  what  made  him  suspect  me,  and 
after  dinner  he  put  me  through  a  third  degree.  I 
must  have  given  the  wrong  answers,  for  suddenly 
he  jumped  up  and  called  me  a  swindler  and  an  im 
postor.  I  got  back  by  telling  him  he  was  a  crook 
and  that  I  was  a  detective,  and  that  I  had  sent  a 
wireless  to  have  him  arrested  at  New  Bedford. 
He  challenged  me  to  prove  I  was  a  detective,  and, 
of  course,  I  couldn't,  and  he  called  up  two  stewards 
and  told  them  to  watch  me  while  he  went  after 
the  purser.  I  didn't  fancy  being  watched,  so  I 
came  here." 

"When  did  you  tell  him  I  was  the  Earl  of  Ivy  ?" 

Kinney  ran  his  ringers  through  his  hair  and 
groaned  dfsmally. 

"That  was  before  the  boat  started,"  he  said;  "it 
was  only  a  joke.  He  didn't  seem  to  be  interested 

227 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

in  my  conversation,  so  I  thought  I'd  liven  it  up  a 
bit  by  saying  I  was  a  friend  of  Lord  Ivy's.  And 
you  happened  to  pass,  and  I  happened  to  remem 
ber  Mrs.  Shaw  saying  you  looked  like  a  British 
peer,  so  I  said:  'That  is  my  friend  Lord  Ivy/  I 
said  I  was  your  secretary,  and  he  seemed  greatly 
interested,  and — "  Kinney  added  dismally,  "I 
talked  too  much.  I  am  so  sorry,"  he  begged. 
"It's  going  to  be  awful  for  you!"  His  eyes  sud 
denly  lit  with  hope.  "Unless,"  he  whispered. 
"we  can  escape!" 

The  same  thought  was  in  my  mind,  but  the 
idea  was  absurd,  and  impracticable.  I  knew  there 
was  no  escape.  I  knew  we  were  sentenced  at 
sunrise  to  a  most  humiliating  and  disgraceful 
experience.  The  newspapers  would  regard  any 
thing  that  concerned  Lord  Ivy  as  news.  In  my 
turn  I  also  saw  the  hideous  head-lines.  What 
would  my  father  and  mother  at  Fairport  think; 
what  would  my  old  friends  there  think;  and, 
what  was  of  even  greater  importance,  how  would 
Joyce  &  Carboy  act  ?  What  chance  was  there 
left  me,  after  I  had  been  arrested  as  an  impos 
tor,  to  become  a  stenographer  in  the  law  courts 
— in  time,  a  member  of  the  bar  ?  But  I  found 
that  what,  for  the  moment,  distressed  me  most  was 
that  the  lovely  lady  would  consider  me  a  knave  or 

228 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

a  fool.  The  thought  made  me  exclaim  with  ex 
asperation.  Had  it  been  possible  to  abandon  Kin- 
ney,  I  would  have  dropped  overboard  and  made 
for  shore.  The  night  was  warm  and  foggy,  and 
the  short  journey  to  land,  to  one  who  had  been 
brought  up  like  a  duck,  meant  nothing  more  than 
a  wetting.  But  I  did  not  see  how  I  could  desert 
Kinney. 

"Can  you  swim?"  I  asked 

"Of  course  not!"  he  answered  gloomily;  "and, 
besides/'  he  added,  "our  names  are  on  our  suit 
cases.  We  couldn't  take  them  with  us,  and  they'd 
find  out  who  we  are.  If  we  could  only  steal  a 
boat!"  he  exclaimed  eagerly — "one  of  those  on 
the  davits,"  he  urged — "we  could  put  our  suit 
cases  in  it  and  then,  after  every  one  is  asleep,  we 
could  lower  it  into  the  water." 

The  smallest  boat  on  board  was  certified  to  hold 
twenty-five  persons,  and  without  waking  the  entire 
ship's  company  we  could  as  easily  have  moved 
the  chart-room.  This  I  pointed  out. 

"Don't  make  objections!"  Kinney  cried  petu 
lantly.  He  was  rapidly  recovering  his  spirits. 
The  imminence  of  danger  seemed  to  inspire  him. 

"Think!"  he  commanded.  "Think  of  some 
way  by  which  we  can  get  off  this  boat  before  she 
reaches  New  Bedford.  We  must!  We  must  not 

229 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

foe  arrested!  It  would  be  too  awful!"  He  inter 
rupted  himself  with  an  excited  exclamation. 

"I  have  it!"  he  whispered  hoarsely:  "I  will 
ring  in  the  fire-alarm!  The  crew  will  run  to  quar 
ters.  The  boats  will  be  lowered.  We  will  cut  one 
of  them  adrift.  In  the  confusion " 

What  was  to  happen  in  the  confusion  that  his 
imagination  had  conjured  up,  I  was  not  to  know. 
For  what  actually  happened  was  so  confused  that 
of  nothing  am  I  quite  certain.  First,  from  the 
water  of  the  Sound,  that  was  lapping  pleasantly 
against  the  side,  I  heard  the  voice  of  a  man  raised 
in  terror.  Then  came  a  rush  of  feet,  oaths,  and 
yells;  then  a  shock  that  threw  us  to  our  knees, 
and  a  crunching,  ripping,  and  tearing  roar  like  that 
made  by  the  roof  of  a  burning  building  when  it 
plunges  to  the  cellar. 

And  the  next  instant  a  large  bowsprit  entered 
our  cabin  window.  There  was  left  me  just  space 
enough  to  wrench  the  door  open,  and  grabbing 
Kinney,  who  was  still  on  his  knees,  I  dragged  him 
into  the  alleyway.  He  scrambled  upright  and 
clasped  his  hands  to  his  head. 

"Where's  my  hat?"  he  cried. 

I  could  hear  the  water  pouring  into  the  lower 
deck  and  sweeping  the  freight  and  trunks  before 
it.  A  horse  in  a  box  stall  was  squealing  like  a 

230 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

human  being,  and  many  human  beings  were 
screaming  and  shrieking  like  animals.  My  first 
intelligent  thought  was  of  the  lovely  lady.  I  shook 
Kinney  by  the  arm.  The  uproar  was  so  great  that 
to  make  him  hear  I  was  forced  to  shout.  "Where 
is  Lord  Ivy's  cabin?"  I  cried.  "You  said  it's 
next  to  his  sister's.  Take  me  there!" 

Kinney  nodded,  and  ran  down  the  corridor  and 
into  an  alleyway  on  which  opened  three  cabins. 
The  doors  were  ajar,  and  as  I  looked  into  each  I 
saw  that  the  beds  had  not  been  touched,  and  that 
the  cabins  were  empty.  I  knew  then  that  she  was 
still  on  deck.  I  felt  that  I  must  find  her.  We 
ran  toward  the  companionway. 

"Women  and  children  first!"  Kinney  was  yell 
ing.  "Women  and  children  first!"  As  we  raced 
down  the  slanting  floor  of  the  saloon  he  kept  re 
peating  this  mechanically.  At  that  moment  the 
electric  lights  went  out,  and,  except  for  the  oil 
lamps,  the  ship  was  in  darkness.  Many  of  the 
passengers  had  already  gone  to  bed.  These  now 
burst  from  the  state-rooms  in  strange  garments, 
carrying  life-preservers,  hand-bags,  their  arms  full 
of  clothing.  One  man  in  one  hand  clutched  a 
sponge,  in  the  other  an  umbrella.  With  this  he 
beat  at  those  who  blocked  his  flight.  He  hit  a 
woman  over  the  head,  and  I  hit  him  and  he  went 

231 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

down.  Finding  himself  on  his  knees,  be  began 
to  pray  volubly. 

When  we  reached  the  upper  deck  we  pushed 
out  of  the  crush  at  the  gangway  and,  to  keep  our 
footing,  for  there  was  a  strong  list  to  port,  clung 
to  the  big  flag-staff  at  the  stern.  At  each  rail  the 
crew  were  swinging  the  boats  over  the  side,  and 
around  each  boat  was  a  crazy,  fighting  mob. 
Above  our  starboard  rail  towered  the  foremast  of 
a  schooner.  She  had  rammed  us  fair  amidships, 
and  in  her  bows  was  a  hole  through  which  you 
could  have  rowed  a  boat.  Into  this  the  water  was 
rushing  and  sucking  her  down.  She  was  already 
settling  at  the  stern.  By  the  light  of  a  swinging 
lantern  I  saw  three  of  her  crew  lift  a  yawl  from 
her  deck  and  lower  it  into  the  water.  Into  it 
they  hurled  oars  and  a  sail,  and  one  of  them  had 
already  started  to  slide  down  the  painter  when  the 
schooner  lurched  drunkenly;  and  in  a  panic  all 
three  of  the  men  ran  forward  and  leaped  to  our 
lower  deck.  The  yawl,  abandoned,  swung  idly 
between  the  Patience  and  the  schooner.  Kinney, 
seeing  what  I  saw,  grabbed  me  by  the  arm. 

"There!"  he  whispered,  pointing;  "there's  our 
chance!"  I  saw  that,  with  safety,  the  yawl  could 
hold  a  third  person,  and  as  to  who  the  third  pas 
senger  would  be  I  had  already  made  up  my  mind. 

232 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

"Wait  here!"  I  said. 

On  the  Patience  there  were  many  immigrants, 
only  that  afternoon  released  from  Ellis  Island. 
They  had  swarmed  into  the  life-boats  even  before 
they  were  swung  clear,  and  when  the  ship's  offi 
cers  drove  them  off,  the  poor  souls,  not  being  able 
to  understand,  believed  they  were  being  sacrificed 
for  the  safety  of  the  other  passengers.  So  each 
was  fighting,  as  he  thought,  for  his  life  and  for  the 
lives  of  his  wife  and  children.  At  the  fedge  of  the 
scrimmage  I  dragged  out  two  womeri  who  had 
been  knocked  off  their  feet  and  who  were  in  danger 
of  being  trampled.  But  neither  was  the  woman 
I  sought.  In  the  half-darkness  I  saw  one  of  the 
immigrants,  a  girl  with  a  'kerchief  on  her  head, 
struggling  with  her  life-belt.  A  stoker,  as  he  raced 
past,  seized  it  and  made  for  the  rail.  In  my  turn 
I  took  it  from  him,  and  he  fought  for  it,  shouting: 
"It's  every  man  for  himself  now!" 

"All  right,"  I  said,  for  I  was  excited  and  angry, 
"look  out  for  yourself  then!"  I  hit  him  on  the 
chin,  and  he  let  go  of  the  life-belt  and  dropped. 

I  heard  at  my  elbow  a  low,  excited  laugh,  and  a 
voice  said:  "Well  bowled!  You  never  learned 
that  in  an  office."  I  turned  and  saw  the  lovely 
lady.  I  tossed  the  immigrant  girl  her  life-belt, 
and  as  though  I  had  known  Lady  Moya  all  my 

233 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

life  I  took  her  by  the  hand  and  dragged  her  after 
me  down  the  deck. 

uYou  come  with  me!"  I  commanded.  I  found 
that  I  was  trembling  and  that  a  weight  of  anxiety 
of  which  I  had  not  been  conscious  had  been 
lifted.  I  found  I  was  still  holding  her  hand  and 
pressing  it  in  my  own.  "Thank  God!"  I  said. 
"I  thought  I  had  lost  you!" 

"Lost  me!"  repeated  Lady  Moya.  But  she 
made  no  comment.  "I  must  find  my  brother," 
she  said. 

"You  must  come  with  me!"  I  ordered.  "Go 
with  Mr.  Kinney  to  the  lower  deck.  I  will  bring 
that  rowboat  under  the  stern.  You  will  jump 


into  it." 


"I  cannot  leave  my  brother!"  said  Lady  Moya. 

Upon  the  word,  as  though  shot  from  a  cannon, 
the  human  whirlpool  that  was  sweeping  the  deck 
amidships  cast  out  Stumps  and  hurled  him  toward 
us.  His  sister  gave  a  little  cry  of  relief.  Stumps 
recovered  his  balance  and  shook  himself  like  a  dog 
that  has  been  in  the  water. 

"Thought  I'd  never  get  out  of  it  alive!"  he  re 
marked  complacently.  In  the  darkness  I  could 
not  see  his  face,  but  I  was  sure  he  was  still  vaguely 
smiling.  "Worse  than  a  foot-ball  night!"  he  ex 
claimed;  "worse  than  Mafeking  night!" 

234 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

His  sister  pointed  to  the  yawl. 

"This  gentleman  is  going  to  bring  that  boat 
here  and  take  us  away  in  it,"  she  told  him.  "We 
had  better  go  when  we  can!" 

"Right  ho!"  assented  Stumps  cheerfully.  "How 
about  Phil  ?  He's  just  behind  me." 

As  he  spoke,  only  a  few  yards  from  us  a  peevish 
voice  pierced  the  tumult. 

"I  tell  you,"  it  cried,  "you  must  find  Lord  Ivy! 
If  Lord  Ivy " 

A  voice  with  a  strong  and  brutal  American  ac 
cent  yelled  in  answer:  "To  hell  with  Lord  Ivy!" 

Lady  Moya  chuckled. 

"Get  to  the  lower  deck!"  I  commanded.  "I 
am  going  for  the  yawl." 

As  I  slipped  my  leg  over  the  rail  I  heard  Lord 
Ivy  say:  "I'll  find  Phil  and  meet  you." 

I  dropped  and  caught  the  rail  of  the  deck  below, 
and,  hanging  from  it,  shoved  with  my  knees  and 
fell  into  the  water.  Two  strokes  brought  me  to 
the  yawl,  and,  scrambling  into  her  and  casting  her 
ofF,  I  paddled  back  to  the  steamer.  As  I  lay  under 
the  stern  I  heard  from  the  lower  deck  the  voice  of 
Kinney  raised  importantly. 

"Ladies  first!"  he  cried.  "Her  ladyship  first, 
I  mean,"  he  corrected.  Even  on  leaving  what  he 
believed  to  be  a  sinking  ship,  Kinney  could  not 

235 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

forget  his  manners.  But  Mr.  Aldrich  had  evi 
dently  forgotten  his.  I  heard  him  shout  indig 
nantly:  "I'll  be  damned  ifl  do!" 

The  voice  of  Lady  Moya  laughed. 

"You'll  be  drowned  if  you  don't!"  she  an 
swered.  I  saw  a  black  shadow  poised  upon  the 
rail.  "Steady  below  there!"  her  voice  called,  and 
the  next  moment,  as  lightly  as  a  squirrel,  she 
dropped  to  the  thwart  and  stumbled  into  my  arms. 

The  voice  of  Aldrich  was  again  raised  in  anger. 
"I'd  rather  drown!"  he  cried. 

Lord  Ivy  responded  with  unexpected  spirit. 

"Well,  then,  drown!  The  water  is  warm  and 
it's  a  pleasing  death." 

At  that,  with  a  bump,  he  fell  in  a  heap  at  my  feet. 
"  Easy,  Kinney ! "  I  shouted.  "  Don't  swamp  us ! " 

"I'll  be  careful!"  he  called,  and  the  next  instant 
hit  my  shoulders  and  I  shook  him  off  on  top  of 
Lord  Ivy. 

"Get  off  my  head!"  shouted  his  lordship. 

Kinney  apologized  to  every  one  profusely.  Lady 
Moya  raised  her  voice. 

"For  the  last  time,  Phil,"  she  called,  "are  you 
coming  or  are  you  not  ? " 

"Not  with  those  swindlers,  I'm  not!"  he  shouted. 
"1  think  you  two  are  mad!  I  prefer  to  drown!" 

There  was  an  uncomfortable  silence.  My  po- 
236 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

sition  was  a  difficult  one,  and,  not  knowing  what 
to  say,  I  said  nothing. 

"If  one  must  drown!"  exclaimed  Lady  Moya 
briskly,  "I  can't  see  it  matters  who  one  drowns 
with." 

In  his  strangely  explosive  manner  Lord  Ivy 
shouted  suddenly:  "Phil,  you're  a  silly  ass." 

"Push  off!"  commanded  Lady  Moya. 

I  think,  from  her  tone,  the  order  was  given 
more  for  the  benefit  of  Aldrich  than  for  myself. 
Certainly  it  was  effective,  for  on  the  instant  there 
was  a  heavy  splash.  Lord  Ivy  sniffed  scornfully 
and  manifested  no  interest. 

"Ah!"  he  exclaimed,  "he  prefers  to  drown!" 

Sputtering  and  gasping,  Aldrich  rose  out  of  the 
water,  and,  while  we  balanced  the  boat,  climbed 
over  the  side. 

"Understand!"  he  cried  even  while  he  was  still 
gasping,  "I  am  here  under  protest.  I  am  here  to 
protect  you  and  Stumps.  I  am  under  obligation 
to  no  one.  I'm " 

"Can  you  row?"  I  asked. 

"Why  don't  you  ask  your  pal?"  he  demanded 
savagely;  "he  rowed  on  last  year's  crew." 

"  Phil ! "  cried  Lady  Moya.  Her  voice  suggested 
a  temper  I  had  not  suspected.  "You  will  row  or 
you  can  get  out  and  walk!  Take  the  oars,"  she 

237 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

commanded,  "and  be  civil!"  Lady  Moya,  with 
the  tiller  in  her  hand,  sat  in  the  stern;  Stumps, 
with  Kinney  huddled  at  his  knees,  was  stowed 
away  forward.  I  took  the  stroke  and  Aldrich  the 
bow  oars. 

"We  will  make  for  the  Connecticut  shore,"  I 
said,  and  pulled  from  under  the  stern  of  the 
Patience. 

In  a  few  minutes  we  had  lost  all  sight  and, 
except  for  her  whistle,  all  sound  of  her;  and  we 
ourselves  were  lost  in  the  fog.  There  was  another 
eloquent  and  embarrassing  silence.  Unless,  in  the 
panic,  they  trampled  upon  each  other,  I  had  no 
real  fear  for  the  safety  of  those  on  board  the 
steamer.  Before  we  had  abandoned  her  I  had 
heard  the  wireless  frantically  sputtering  the  "stand 
by"  call,  and  I  was  certain  that  already  the  big 
boats  of  the  Fall  River,  Providence,  and  Joy  lines, 
and  launches  from  every  wireless  station  between 
Bridgeport  and  Newport,  were  making  toward  her. 
But  the  margin  of  safety,  which  to  my  thinking 
was  broad  enough  for  all  the  other  passengers, 
for  the  lovely  lady  was  in  no  way  sufficient.  That 
mob-swept  deck  was  no  place  for  her.  I  was 
happy  that,  on  her  account,  I  had  not  waited  for 
a  possible  rescue.  In  the  yawl  she  was  safe.  The 
water  was  smooth,  and  the  Connecticut  shore  was, 

238 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

I  judged,  not  more  than  three  miles  distant.  In 
an  hour,  unless  the  fog  confused  us,  I  felt  sure  the 
lovely  lady  would  again  walk  safely  upon  dry  land. 
Selfishly,  on  Kinney's  account  and  my  own,  I  was 
delighted  to  find  myself  free  of  the  steamer,  and 
from  any  chance  of  her  landing  us  where  police 
waited  with  open  arms.  The  avenging  angel  in 
the  person  of  Aldrich  was  still  near  us,  so  near 
that  I  could  hear  the  water  dripping  from  his 
clothes,  but  his  power  to  harm  was  gone.  I  was 
congratulating  myself  on  this  when  suddenly  he 
undeceived  me.  Apparently  he  had  been  consid 
ering  his  position  toward  Kinney  and  myself,  and, 
having  arrived  at  a  conclusion,  was  anxious  to 
announce  it. 

"I  wish  to  repeat,"  he  exclaimed  suddenly, 
"that  I'm  under  obligations  to  nobody.  Just  be 
cause  my  friends,"  he  went  on  defiantly,  "choose 
to  trust  themselves  with  persons  who  ought  to  be 
in  jail,  I  can't  desert  them.  It's  all  the  more  rea 
son  why  I  shouldn't  desert  them.  That's  why  I'm 
here!  And  I  want  it  understood  as  soon  as  I  get 
on  shore  I'm  going  to  a  police  station  and  have 
those  persons  arrested." 

Rising  out  of  the  fog  that  had  rendered  each  of 
us  invisible  to  the  other,  his  words  sounded  fan- 

239 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

tastic  and  unreal.  In  the  dripping  silence,  broken 
only  by  hoarse  warnings  that  came  from  no  di 
rection,  and  within  the  mind  of  each  the  convic 
tion  that  we  were  lost,  police  stations  did  not  im 
mediately  concern  us.  So  no  one  spoke,  and  in 
the  fog  the  words  died  away  and  were  drowned. 
But  I  was  glad  he  had  spoken.  At  least  I  was 
forewarned.  I  now  knew  that  I  had  not  escaped, 
that  Kinney  and  I  were  still  in  danger.  I  deter 
mined  that  so  far  as  it  lay  with  me,  our  yawl 
would  be  beached  at  that  point  on  the  coast  of 
Connecticut  farthest  removed,  not  only  from  police 
stations,  but  from  all  human  habitation. 

As  soon  as  we  were  out  of  hearing  of  the  Pa 
tience  and  her  whistle,  we  completely  lost  our  bear 
ings.  It  may  be  that  Lady  Moya  was  not  a  skilled 
coxswain,  or  it  may  be  that  Aldrich  understands  a 
racing  scull  better  than  a  yawl,  and  pulled  too 
heavily  on  his  right,  but  whatever  the  cause  we 
soon  were  hopelessly  lost.  In  this  predicament 
we  were  not  alone.  The  night  was  filled  with 
fog-horns,  whistles,  bells,  and  the  throb  of  engines, 
but  we  never  were  near  enough  to  hail  the  vessels 
from  which  the  sounds  came,  and  when  we  rowed 
toward  them  they  invariably  sank  into  silence. 
After  two  hours  Stumps  and  Kinney  insisted  on 
taking  a  turn  at  the  oars,  and  Lady  Moya  moved 

240 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

to  the  bow.  We  gave  her  our  coats,  and,  making 
cushions  of  these,  she  announced  that  she  was  go 
ing  to  sleep.  Whether  she  slept  or  not,  I  do  not 
know,  but  she  remained  silent.  For  three  more 
dreary  hours  we  took  turns  at  the  oars  or  dozed  at 
the  bottom  of  the  boat  while  we  continued  aim 
lessly  to  drift  upon  the  face  of  the  waters.  It  was 
now  five  o'clock,  and  the  fog  had  so  far  lightened 
that  we  could  see  each  other  and  a  stretch  of  open 
water.  At  intervals  the  fog-horns  of  vessels  pass 
ing  us,  but  hidden  from  us,  tormented  Aldrich  to 
a  state  of  extreme  exasperation.  He  hailed  them 
with  frantic  shrieks  and  shouts,  and  Stumps  and 
the  Lady  Moya  shouted  with  him.  I  fear  Kinney 
and  myself  did  not  contribute  any  great  volume  t>f 
sound  to  the  general  chorus.  To  be  "rescued" 
was  the  last  thing  we  desired.  The  yacht  or  tug 
that  would  receive  us  on  board  would  also  put  us 
on  shore,  where  the  vindictive  Aldrich  would  have 
us  at  his  mercy.  We  preferred  the  freedom  of  our 
yawl  and  the  shelter  of  the  fog.  Our  silence  was 
not  lost  upon  Aldrich.  For  some  time  he  had  been 
crouching  in  the  bow,  whispering  indignantly  to 
Lady  Moya;  now  he  exclaimed  aloud: 

"What  did  I  tell  you  ?"  he  cried  contemptuously ; 
"they  got  away  in  this  boat  because  they  were 
afraid  of  me,  not  because  they  were  afraid  o 

241 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

drowned.  If  they've  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  why 
are  they  so  anxious  to  keep  us  drifting  around  all 
night  in  this  fog  ?  Why  don't  they  help  us  stop 
one  of  those  tugs  ? " 

Lord  Ivy  exploded  suddenly. 

"Rot!"  he  exclaimed.  "If  they're  afraid  of  you, 
why  did  they  ask  you  to  go  with  them  ?" 

"They  didn't!"  cried  Aldrich,  truthfully  and 
triumphantly.  "They  kidnapped  you  and  Moya 
because  they  thought  they  could  square  themselves 
with  you.  But  they  didn't  want  me!"  The  issue 
had  been  fairly  stated,  and  no  longer  with  self- 
respect  could  I  remain  silent. 

"We  don't  want  you  now!"  I  said.  "Can't 
you  understand,"  I  went  on  with  as  much  self- 
restraint  as  I  could  muster,  "we  are  willing  and 
anxious  to  explain  ourselves  to  Lord  Ivy,  or  even 
to  you,  but  we  don't  want  to  explain  to  the  police  ? 
My  friend  thought  you  and  Lord  Ivy  were  crooks, 
escaping.  You  think  we  are  crooks,  escaping. 
You  both " 

Aldrich  snorted  contemptuously. 

"That's  a  likely  story!"  he  cried.  "No  wonder 
you  don't  want  to  tell  that  to  the  police!" 

From  the  bow  came  an  exclamation,  and  Lady 
Moya  rose  to  her  feet. 

"Phil!"  she  said,  "you  bore  me!"  She  picked 
242 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

her  way  across  the  thwart  to  where  Kinney  sat  at 
the  stroke  oar. 

"My  brother  and  I  often  row  together,"  she 
said;  "I  will  take  your  place." 

When  she  had  seated  herself  we  were  so  near 
that  her  eyes  looked  directly  into  mine.  Draw 
ing  in  the  oars,  she  leaned  upon  them  and  smiled. 

"Now,  then,"  she  commanded,  "tell  us  all  about 


it." 


Before  I  could  speak  there  came  from  behind 
her  a  sudden  radiance,  and  as  though  a  curtain 
had  been  snatched  aside,  the  fog  flew  apart,  and 
the  sun,  dripping,  crimson,  and  gorgeous,  sprang 
from  the  waters.  From  the  others  there  was  a 
cry  of  wonder  and  delight,  and  from  Lord  Ivy  a 
shriek  of  incredulous  laughter. 

Lady  Moya  clapped  her  hands  joyfully  and 
pointed  past  me.  I  turned  and  looked.  Directly 
behind  me,  not  fifty  feet  from  us,  was  a  shelving 
beach  and  a  stone  wharf,  and  above  it  a  vine- 
covered  cottage,  from  the  chimney  of  which  smoke 
curled  cheerily.  Had  the  yawl,  while  Lady  Moya 
was  taking  the  oars,  not  swung  in  a  circle,  and  had 
the  sun  not  risen,  in  three  minutes  more  we  would 
have  bumped  ourselves  into  the  State  of  Connecti 
cut.  The  cottage  stood  on  one  horn  of  a  tiny  har 
bor.  Beyond  it,  weather-beaten  shingled  houses, 

243 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

sail-lofts,  and  wharfs  stretched  cosily  in  a  half- 
circle.  Back  of  them  rose  splendid  elms  and  the 
delicate  spire  of  a  church,  and  from  the  unruffled 
surface  of  the  harbor  the  masts  of  many  fishing- 
boats.  Across  the  water,  on  a  grass-grown  point, 
a  whitewashed  light-house  blushed  in  the  crimson 
glory  of  the  sun.  Except  for  an  oyster-man  in 
his  boat  at  the  end  of  the  wharf,  and  the  smoke 
from  the  chimney  of  his  cottage,  the  little  village 
slept,  the  harbor  slept.  It  was  a  picture  of  perfect 
content,  confidence,  and  peace.  "Oh!"  cried  the 
Lady  Moya,  "how  pretty,  how  pretty!" 

Lord  Ivy  swung  the  bow  about  and  raced  tow 
ard  the  wharf.  The  others  stood  up  and  cheered 
hysterically. 

At  the  sound  and  at  the  sight  of  us  emerging  so 
mysteriously  from  the  fog,  the  man  in  the  fishing- 
boat  raised  himself  to  his  full  height  and  stared 
as  incredulously  as  though  he  beheld  a  mermaid. 
He  was  an  old  man,  but  straight  and  tall,  and  the 
oysterman's  boots  stretching  to  his  hips  made  him 
appear  even  taller  than  he  was.  He  had  a  bris 
tling  white  beard  and  his  face  was  tanned  to  a  fierce 
copper  color,  but  his  eyes  were  blue  and  young 
and  gentle.  They  lit  suddenly  with  excitement 
and  sympathy. 

"Are  you  from  the  Patience?'9  he  shouted.  In 
244 


The  Make-Believe  Man 

chorus  we  answered  that  we  were,  and  Ivy  pulled 
the  yawl  alongside  the  fisherman's  boat. 

But  already  the  old  man  had  turned  and,  mak 
ing  a  megaphone  of  his  hands,  was  shouting  to  the 
cottage. 

"Mother!"  he  cried,  "mother,  here  are  folks 
from  the  wreck.  Get  coffee  and  blankets  and — 
and  bacon — and  eggs!" 

"May  the  Lord  bless  him!"  exclaimed  the  Lady 
Moya  devoutly. 

But  Aldrich,  excited  and  eager,  pulled  out  a 
roll  of  bills  and  shook  them  at  the  man. 

"Do  you  want  to  earn  ten  dollars?"  he  de 
manded;  "then  chase  yourself  to  the  village  and 
bring  the  constable." 

Lady  Moya  exclaimed  bitterly,  Lord  Ivy  swore, 
Kinney  in  despair  uttered  a  dismal  howl  and 
dropped  his  head  in  his  hands. 

"It's  no  use,  Mr.  Aldrich,"  I  said.  Seated  in 
the  stern,  the  others  had  hidden  me  from  the  fish 
erman.  Now  I  stood  up  and  he  saw  me.  I  laid 
one  hand  on  his,  and  pointed  to  the  tin  badge  on 
his  suspender. 

"He  is  the  village  constable  himself,"  I  ex 
plained.  I  turned  to  the  lovely  lady.  "Lady 
Moya,"  I  said,  "I  want  to  introduce  you  to  my 
father!"  I  pointed  to  the  vine-covered  cottage. 

245 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"That's  my  home,"  I  said.  I  pointed  to  the  sleep 
ing  town.  "That/'  I  told  her,  "is  the  village  of 
Fairport.  Most  of  it  belongs  to  father.  You  are 
all  very  welcome." 


246 


PEACE  MAN(EUVRES 


PEACE  MANCEUVRES 

THE  scout  stood  where  three  roads  cut  three 
green  tunnels  in  the  pine  woods,  and  met 
at  his  feet.     Above  his  head  an  aged  sign-post 
pointed  impartially  to  East  Carver,  South  Carver, 
and  Carver  Centre,  and  left  the  choice  to  him. 

The  scout  scowled  and  bit  nervously  at  his 
gauntlet.  The  choice  was  difficult,  and  there  was 
no  one  with  whom  he  could  take  counsel.  The 
three  sun-shot  roads  lay  empty,  and  the  other 
scouts,  who,  with  him,  had  left  the  main  column 
at  sunrise,  he  had  ordered  back.  They  were  to 
report  that  on  the  right  flank,  so  far,  at  least,  as 
Middleboro,  there  was  no  sign  of  the  enemy. 
What  lay  beyond,  it  now  was  his  duty  to  discover. 
The  three  empty  roads  spread  before  him  like  a 
picture  puzzle,  smiling  at  his  predicament.  Which 
ever  one  he  followed  left  two  unguarded.  Should 
he  creep  upon  for  choice  Carver  Centre,  the 
enemy,  masked  by  a  mile  of  fir  trees,  might  ad 
vance  from  Carver  or  South  Carver,  and  obviously 
he  could  not  follow  three  roads  at  the  same  time. 
He  considered  the  better  strategy  would  be  to  wait 
where  he  was,  where  the  three  roads  met,  and 

249 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

allow  the  enemy  himself  to  disclose  his  position. 
To  the  scout  this  course  was  most  distasteful.  He 
assured  himself  that  this  was  so  because,  while  it 
were  the  safer  course,  it  wasted  time  and  lacked 
initiative.  But  in  his  heart  he  knew  that  was  not 
the  reason,  and  to  his  heart  his  head  answered  that 
when  one's  country  is  at  war,  when  fields  and  fire 
sides  are  trampled  by  the  iron  heels  of  the  invader, 
a  scout  should  act  not  according  to  the  dictates  of 
his  heart,  but  in  the  service  of  his  native  land.  In 
the  case  of  this  particular  patriot,  the  man  and 
scout  were  at  odds.  As  one  of  the  Bicycle  Squad 
of  the  Boston  Corps  of  Cadets,  the  scout  knew 
what,  at  this  momentous  crisis  in  her  history, 
the  commonwealth  of  Massachusetts  demanded  of 
him.  It  was  that  he  sit  tight  and  wait  for  the 
hated  foreigners  from  New  York  City,  New  Jer 
sey,  and  Connecticut  to  show  themselves.  But 
the  man  knew,  and  had  known  for  several  years, 
that  on  the  road  to  Carver  was  the  summer  home 
of  one  Beatrice  Farrar.  As  Private  Lathrop  it 
was  no  part  of  his  duty  to  know  that.  As  a  man 
and  a  lover,  and  a  rejected  lover  at  that,  he  could 
not  think  of  anything  else.  Struggling  between 
love  and  duty  the  scout  basely  decided  to  leave  the 
momentous  question  to  chance.  In  the  front  tire 
of  his  bicycle  was  a  puncture,  temporarily  effaced 

250 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

by  a  plug.  Laying  the  bicycle  on  the  ground, 
Lathrop  spun  the  front  wheel  swiftly. 

"If,"  he  decided,  "the  wheel  stops  with  the 
puncture  pointing  at  Carver  Centre,  I'll  advance 
upon  Carver  Centre.  Should  it  point  to  either  of 
the  two  other  villages,  I'll  stop  here. 

"It's  a  two  to  one  shot  against  me,  any  way," 
he  growled. 

Kneeling  in  the  road  he  spun  the  wheel,  and 
as  intently  as  at  Monte  Carlo  and  Palm  Beach 
he  had  waited  for  other  wheels  to  determine  his 
fortune,  he  watched  it  come  to  rest.  It  stopped 
with  the  plug  pointing  back  to  Middleboro. 

The  scout  told  himself  he  was  entitled  to  an 
other  trial.  Again  he  spun  the  wheel.  Again 
the  spokes  flashed  in  the  sun.  Again  the  punc 
ture  rested  on  the  road  to  Middleboro. 

"If  it  does  that  once  more,"  thought  the  scout, 
"it's  a  warning  that  there  is  trouble  ahead  for  me 
at  Carver,  and  all  the  little  Carvers." 

For  the  third  time  the  wheel  flashed,  but  as  he 
waited  for  the  impetus  to  die,  the  sound  of  gal 
loping  hoofs  broke  sharply  on  the  silence.  The 
scout  threw  himself  and  his  bicycle  over  the  near 
est  stone  wall,  and,  unlimbering  his  rifle,  pointed 
it  down  the  road. 

He  saw  approaching  a  small  boy,  in  a  white 
251 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

apron,  seated  in  a  white  wagon,  on  which  was 
painted,  "Pies  and  Pastry.  East  Wareham." 
The  boy  dragged  his  horse  to  an  abrupt  halt. 

"Don't  point  that  at  me!"  shouted  the  boy. 

"Where  do  you  come  from?"  demanded  the 
scout. 

"Wareham,"  said  the  baker. 

"Are  you  carrying  any  one  concealed  in  that 
wagon  ?" 

As  though  to  make  sure  the  baker's  boy  glanced 
apprehensively  into  the  depths  of  his  cart,  and 
then  answered  that  in  the  wagon  he  carried  noth 
ing  but  fresh-baked  bread.  To  the  trained  nos 
trils  of  the  scout  this  already  was  evident.  Before 
sunrise  he  had  breakfasted  on  hard  tack  and 
muddy  coffee,  and  the  odor  of  crullers  and  mince 
pie,  still  warm,  assailed  him  cruelly.  He  assumed 
a  fierce  and  terrible  aspect. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ? "  he  challenged. 

"To  Carver  Centre,"  said  the  boy. 

To  chance  Lathrop  had  left  the  decision.  He 
believed  the  fates  had  answered. 

Dragging  his  bicycle  over  the  stone  wall,  he  fell 
into  the  road. 

"Go  on,"  he  commanded.  "I'll  use  your  cart 
for  a  screen.  I'll  creep  behind  the  enemy  before 
he  sees  me." 

252 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

The  baker's  boy  frowned  unhappily. 

"But  supposing,"  he  argued,  "they  see  you 
first,  will  they  shoot  ? " 

The  scout  waved  his  hand  carelessly. 

"Of  course,"  he  cried. 

"Then,"  said  the  baker,  "my  horse  will  run 
away!" 

"What  of  it?"  demanded  the  scout.  "Are 
Middleboro,  South  Middleboro,  Rock,  Brockton, 
and  Boston  to  fall  ?  Are  they  to  be  captured  be 
cause  you're  afraid  of  your  own  horse  ?  They 
won't  shoot  real  bullets!  This  is  not  a  real  war. 
Don't  you  know  that  ? " 

The  baker's  boy  flushed  with  indignation. 

"Sure,  I  know  that,"  he  protested;  "but  my 
horse — he  don't  know  that!" 

Lathrop  slung  his  rifle  over  his  shoulder  and  his 
leg  over  his  bicycle. 

"  If  the  Reds  catch  you,"  he  warned,  in  parting, 
"they'll  take  everything  you've  got." 

"The  Blues  have  took  most  of  it  already," 
wailed  the  boy.  "And  just  as  they  were  paying 
me  the  battle  begun,  and  this  horse  run  away, 
and  I  couldn't  get  him  to  come  back  for  my 
money." 

"War,"  exclaimed  Lathrop  morosely,  "is  al 
ways  cruel  to  the  innocent."  He  sped  toward 

253 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

Carver  Centre.  In  his  motor  car,  he  had  travelled 
the  road  many  times,  and  as  always  his  goal  had 
been  the  home  of  Miss  Beatrice  Farrar,  he  had 
covered  it  at  a  speed  unrecognized  by  law.  But 
now  he  advanced  with  stealth  and  caution.  In 
every  clump  of  bushes  he  saw  an  ambush.  Behind 
each  rock  he  beheld  the  enemy. 

In  a  clearing  was  a  group  of  Portuguese  cran 
berry  pickers,  dressed  as  though  for  a  holiday. 
When  they  saw  the  man  in  uniform,  one  of  the 
women  hailed  him  anxiously. 

"Is  the  parade  coming?"    she  called. 

"Have  you  seen  any  of  the  Reds?"  Lathrop 
returned. 

"No,"  complained  the  woman.  "And  we  been 
waiting  all  morning.  When  will  the  parade 
come  ?" 

"It's  not  a  parade,"  said  Lathrop,  severely. 
"It's  a  war!" 

The  summer  home  of  Miss  Farrar  stood  close 
to  the  road.  It  had  been  so  placed  by  the  farmer 
who  built  it,  in  order  that  the  women  folk  might 
sit  at  the  window  and  watch  the  passing  of  the 
stage-coach  and  the  peddler.  Great  elms  hung 
over  it,  and  a  white  fence  separated  the  road  from 
the  narrow  lawn.  At  a  distance  of  a  hundred  yards 
a  turn  brought  the  house  into  view,  and  at  this 

254 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

turn,  as  had  been  his  manoeuvre  at  every  other  pos 
sible  ambush,  Lathrop  dismounted  and  advanced 
on  foot.  Up  to  this  moment  the  road  had  been 
empty,  but  now,  in  front  of  the  Farrar  cottage,  it 
was  blocked  by  a  touring-car  and  a  station  wagon. 
In  the  occupants  of  the  car  he  recognized  all  the 
members  of  the  Farrar  family,  except  Miss  Farrar. 
In  the  station  wagon  were  all  of  the  Farrar  ser 
vants.  Miss  Farrar  herself  was  leaning  upon  the 
gate  and  waving  them  a  farewell.  The  tour 
ing-car  moved  off  down  the  road;  the  station 
wagon  followed;  Miss  Farrar  was  alone.  Lathrop 
scorched  toward  her,  and  when  he  was  opposite 
the  gate,  dug  his  toes  in  the  dust  and  halted.  When 
he  lifted  his  broad-brimmed  campaign  hat,  Miss 
Farrar  exclaimed  both  with  surprise  and  displeas 
ure.  Drawing  back  from  the  gate  she  held  herself 
erect.  Her  attitude  was  that  of  one  prepared  for 
instant  retreat.  When  she  spoke  it  was  in  tones 
of  extreme  disapproval. 

"You  promised/'  said  the  girl,  "you  would  not 


come  to  see  me/' 


Lathrop,  straddling  his  bicycle,  peered  anxiously 
down  the  road. 

"This  is  not  a  social  call,"  he  said.  "I'm  on 
duty.  Have  you  seen  the  Reds  ?" 

His  tone  was  brisk  and  alert,  his  manner  pre- 
255 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

occupied.  The  ungraciousness  of  his  reception 
did  not  seem  in  the  least  to  disconcert  him. 

But  Miss  Farrar  was  not  deceived.  She  knew 
him,  not  only  as  a  persistent  and  irrepressible 
lover,  but  as  one  full  of  guile,  adroit  in  tricks, 
fertile  in  expedients.  He  was  one  who  could  not 
take  "No"  for  an  answer — at  least  not  from  her. 
When  she  repulsed  him  she  seemed  to  grow  in 
his  eyes  only  the  more  attractive. 

"It  is  not  the  lover  who  comes  to  woo,"  he  was 
constantly  explaining,  "but  the  lover's  way  of 
wooing." 

Miss  Farrar  had  assured  him  she  did  not  like 
his  way.  She  objected  to  being  regarded  and 
treated  as  a  castle  that  could  be  taken  only  by 
assault.  Whether  she  wished  time  to  consider, 
or  whether  he  and  his  proposal  were  really  ob 
noxious  to  her,  he  could  not  find  out.  His  policy 
of  campaign  was  that  she,  also,  should  not  have 
time  to  find  out.  Again  and  again  she  had  agreed 
to  see  him  only  on  the  condition  that  he  would 
not  make  love  to  her.  He  had  promised  again 
and  again,  and  had  failed  to  keep  that  promise. 
Only  a  week  before  he  had  been  banished  from 
her  presence,  to  remain  an  exile  until  she  gave 
him  permission  to  see  her  at  her  home  in  New 
York.  It  was  not  her  purpose  to  return  there  for 

256 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

two  weeks,  and  yet  here  he  was,  a  beggar  at  her 
gate.  It  might  be  that  he  was  there,  as  he  said, 
"on  duty,"  but  her  knowledge  of  him  and  of  the 
doctrine  of  chances  caused  her  to  doubt  it. 

"Mr.  Lathrop!"   she  began,  severely. 

As  though  to  see  to  whom  she  had  spoken  La 
throp  glanced  anxiously  over  his  shoulder.  Ap 
parently  pained  and  surprised  to  find  that  it  was 
to  him  she  had  addressed  herself,  he  regarded  her 
with  deep  reproach.  His  eyes  were  very  beautiful. 
It  was  a  fact  which  had  often  caused  Miss  Far 
rar  extreme  annoyance. 

He  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"'Mr.  Lathrop?'"  he  protested.  "You  know 
that  to  you  I  am  always  'Charles — Charles  the 
Bold/  because  I  am  bold  to  love  you;  but  never 
'Mr.  Lathrop/  unless,"  he  went  on  briskly,  "you 
are  referring  to  a  future  state,  when,  as  Mrs, 
Lathrop,  you  will  make  me " 

Miss  Farrar  had  turned  her  back  on  him,  and 
was  walking  rapidly  up  the  path. 

"Beatrice,"  he  called.  "I  am  coming  after 
you!" 

Miss  Farrar  instantly  returned  and  placed  both 
hands  firmly  upon  the  gate. 

"I  cannot  understand  you!"  she  said.  "Don't 
you  see  that  when  you  act  as  you  do  now,  I  can't 

257 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

even  respect  you  ?  How  do  you  think  I  could 
ever  care,  when  you  offend  me  so  ?  You  jest  at 
what  you  pretend  is  the  most  serious  thing  in  your 
life.  You  play  with  it — laugh  at  it!" 

The  young  man  interrupted  her  sharply. 

"It's  like  this,"  he  said.  "When  I  am  with 
you  I  am  so  happy  I  can't  be  serious.  When  I 
am  not  with  you,  it  is  so  serious  that  I  am  utterly 
and  completely  wretched.  You  say  my  love 
offends  you,  bores  you!  I  am  sorry,  but  what,  in 
heaven's  name,  do  you  think  your  not  loving  me 
is  doing  to  me  ?  I  am  a  wreck!  I  am  a  skeleton! 
Look  at  me!" 

He  let  his  bicycle  fall,  and  stood  with  his  hands 
open  at  his  sides,  as  though  inviting  her  to  gaze 
upon  the  ruin  she  had  caused. 

Four  days  of  sun  and  rain,  astride  of  a  bicycle, 
without  food  or  sleep,  had  drawn  his  face  into 
fine,  hard  lines,  had  bronzed  it  with  a  healthy  tan. 
His  uniform,  made  by  the  same  tailor  that  fitted 
him  with  polo  breeches,  clung  to  him  like  a 
jersey.  The  spectacle  he  presented  was  that  of 
an  extremely  picturesque,  handsome,  manly  youth, 
and  of  that  fact  no  one  was  better  aware  than 
himself. 

"Look  at  me,"  he  begged,  sadly. 

Miss  Farrar  was  entirely  unimpressed. 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

"I  am!"  she  returned,  coldly.  "I  never  saw 
you  looking  so  well — and  you  know  it."  She  gave 
a  gasp  of  comprehension.  "You  came  here  be 
cause  you  knew  your  uniform  was  becoming!" 

Lathrop  regarded  himself  complacently. 

"Yes,  isn't  it?"  he  assented.  "I  brought  on 
this  war  in  order  to  wear  it.  If  you  don't  mind," 
he  added,  "I  think  I'll  accept  your  invitation 
and  come  inside.  I've  had  nothing  to  eat  in  four 
days." 

Miss  Farrar's  eyes  flashed  indignantly. 

"You're  not  coming  inside,"  she  declared; 
"but  if  you'll  only  promise  to  go  away  at  once, 
I'll  bring  you  everything  in  the  house." 

"In  that  house,"  exclaimed  Lathrop,  dra 
matically,  "there's  only  one  thing  that  I  desire, 
and  I  want  that  so  badly  that  'life  holds  no  charm 
without  you.' " 

Miss  Farrar  regarded  him  steadily. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  drive  me  away  from  my  own 
door,  or  will  you  go  ? " 

Lathrop  picked  his  wheel  out  of  the  dust. 

"Good-by,"  he  said.  "I'll  come  back  when 
you  have  made  up  your  mind." 

In  vexation  Miss  Farrar  stamped  her  foot  upon 
the  path. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind!"   she  protested. 
259 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"Then,"  returned  Lathrop,  "Til  come  back 
when  you  have  changed  it." 

He  made  a  movement  as  though  to  ride  away, 
but  much  to  Miss  Farrar' s  dismay,  hastily  dis 
mounted.  "On  second  thoughts,"  he  said,  "it 
isn't  right  for  me  to  leave  you.  The  woods  are 
full  of  tramps  and  hangers-on  of  the  army.  You're 
not  safe.  I  can  watch  this  road  from  here  as  well 
as  from  anywhere  else,  and  at  the  same  time  I  can 
guard  you." 

To  the  consternation  of  Miss  Farrar  he  placed 
his  bicycle  against  the  fence,  and,  as  though  pre 
paring  for  a  visit,  leaned  his  elbows  upon  it. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  be  rude,"  said  Miss  Farrar, 
"but  you  are  annoying  me.  I  have  spent  fifteen 
summers  in  Massachusetts,  and  I  have  never  seen 
a  tramp.  I  need  no  one  to  guard  me." 

"If  not  you,"  said  Lathrop  easily,  "then  the 
family  silver.  And  think  of  your  jewels,  and  your 
mother's  jewels.  Think  of  yourself  in  a  house 
filled  with  jewels,  and  entirely  surrounded  by 
hostile  armies!  My  duty  is  to  remain  with  you." 

Miss  Farrar  was  so  long  in  answering,  that 
Lathrop  lifted  his  head  and  turned  to  look.  He 
found  her  frowning  and  gazing  intently  into  the 
shadow  of  the  woods,  across  the  road.  When  she 
felt  his  eyes  upon  her  she  turned  her  own  guiltily 

260 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

upon  him.     Her  cheeks  were  flushed  and  her  face 
glowed  with  some  unusual  excitement. 

"I  wish,"  she  exclaimed  breathlessly — "I  wish," 
she  repeated,  "the  Reds  would  take  you  prisoner!" 

"Take  me  where  ?"  asked  Lathrop. 

"Take  you  anywhere!"  cried  Miss  Farrar. 
"You  should  be  ashamed  to  talk  to  me  when  you 
should  be  looking  for  the  enemy!" 

"I  am  waiting  for  the  enemy,"  explained  La 
throp.  "  It's  the  same  thing." 

Miss  Farrar  smiled  vindictively.    Her  eyes  shone. 

"You  need  not  wait  long,"  she  said. 

There  was  a  crash  of  a  falling  stone  wall,  and  of 
parting  bushes,  but  not  in  time  to  give  Lathrop 
warning.  As  though  from  the  branches  of  the 
trees  opposite  two  soldiers  fell  into  the  road; 
around  his  hat  each  wore  the  red  band  of  the  in 
vader;  each  pointed  his  rifle  at  Lathrop. 

"Hands  up!"  shouted  one.  "You're  my  pris 
oner!"  cried  the  other. 

Mechanically  Lathrop  raised  his  hands,  but  his 
eyes  turned  to  Miss  Farrar. 

"Did  you  know?"  he  asked. 

"I  have  been  watching  them,"  she  said,  "creep 
ing  up  on  you  for  the  last  ten  minutes." 

Lathrop  turned  to  the  two  soldiers,  and  made 
an  effort  to  smile. 

261 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"That  was  very  clever/'  he  said,  "but  I  have 
twenty  men  up  the  road,  and  behind  them  a  regi 
ment.  You  had  better  get  away  while  you  can." 

The  two  Reds  laughed  derisively.  One,  who 
wore  the  stripes  of  a  sergeant,  answered:  "That 
won't  do!  We  been  a  mile  up  the  road,  and  you 
and  us  are  the  only  soldiers  on  it.  Gimme  the 
gun!" 

Lathrop  knew  he  had  no  right  to  refuse.  He 
had  been  fairly  surprised,  but  he  hesitated.  When 
Miss  Farrar  was  not  in  his  mind  his  amateur  sol 
diering  was  to  him  a  most  serious  proposition. 
The  war  game  was  a  serious  proposition,  and  that, 
through  his  failure  for  ten  minutes  to  regard  it 
seriously,  he  had  been  made  a  prisoner,  mortified 
him  keenly.  That  his  humiliation  had  taken  place 
in  the  presence  of  Beatrice  Farrar  did  not  lessen 
his  discomfort,  nor  did  the  explanation  he  must 
later  make  to  his  captain  afford  him  any  satisfac 
tion.  Already  he  saw  himself  playing  the  star 
part  in  a  court-martial.  He  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders  and  surrendered  his  gun. 

As  he  did  so  he  gloomily  scrutinized  the  insignia 
of  his  captors. 

"Who  took  me?"  he  asked. 

"  We  took  you,"  exclaimed  the  sergeant. 

"What  regiment  ?"  demanded  Lathrop,  sharply. 
262 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

"I  have  to  report  who  took  me;  and  you  probably 
don't  know  it,  but  your  collar  ornaments  are  up 
side  down."  With  genuine  exasperation  he  turned 
to  Miss  Farrar. 

"Lord!"  he  exclaimed,  "isn't  it  bad  enough 
to  be  taken  prisoner,  without  being  taken  by  raw 
recruits  that  can't  put  on  their  uniforms  ?" 

The  Reds  flushed,  and  the  younger,  a  sandy- 
haired,  rat-faced  youth,  retorted  angrily:  "Mebbe 
we  ain't  strong  on  uniforms,  beau,"  he  snarled, 
"  but  you've  got  nothing  on  us  yet,  that  I  can  see. 
You  look  pretty  with  your  hands  in  the  air,  don't 
you?" 

"Shut  up,"  commanded  the  other  Red.  He 
was  the  older  man,  heavily  built,  with  a  strong, 
hard  mouth  and  chin,  on  which  latter  sprouted  a 
three  days'  iron-gray  beard.  "Don't  you  see  he's 
an  officer  ?  Officers  don't  like  being  took  by  two- 
spot  privates." 

Lathrop  gave  a  sudden  start.  "Why,"  he 
laughed,  incredulously,  "don't  you  know — "  He 
stopped,  and  his  eyes  glanced  quickly  up  and 
down  the  road. 

"Don't  we  know  what?"  demanded  the  older 
Red,  suspiciously. 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Lathrop.  "  I — I  must  not  give 
information  to  the  enemy — " 

263 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

For  an  instant  there  was  a  pause,  while  the  two 
Reds  stood  irresolute.  Then  the  older  nodded  the 
other  to  the  side  of  the  road,  and  in  whispers  they 
consulted  eagerly. 

Miss  Farrar  laughed,  and  Lathrop  moved  tow 
ard  her. 

"  I  deserve  worse  than  being  laughed  at,"  he  said. 
"I  made  a  strategic  mistake.  I  should  not  have 
tried  to  capture  you  and  an  army  corps  at  the  same 
time." 

"  You,"  she  taunted,  "who  were  always  so  keen 
on  soldiering,  to  be  taken  prisoner,"  she  lowered 
her  voice,  "and  by  men  like  that!  Aren't  they 
funny  ?"  she  whispered,  "and  East  Side  and  Ten 
derloin!  It  made  me  homesick  to  hear  them!  I 
think  when  not  in  uniform  the  little  one  drives  a 
taxicab,  and  the  big  one  is  a  guard  on  the  elevated." 

"They  certainly  are  very  'New  York,'"  assented 
Lathrop,  "and  very  tough." 

"I  thought,"  whispered  Miss  Farrar,  "those 
from  New  York  with  the  Red  Army  were  picked 
men." 

"What  does  it  matter?"  exclaimed  Lathrop. 
"It's  just  as  humiliating  to  be  captured  by  a  hall- 
room  boy  as  by  a  mere  millionaire!  I  can't  in 
sist  on  the  invading  army  being  entirely  recruited 
from  Harvard  graduates." 

264 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

The  two  Reds  either  had  reached  a  decision, 
or  agreed  that  they  could  not  agree,  for  they  ceased 
whispering,  and  crossed  to  where  Lathrop  stood. 

"We  been  talking  over  your  case,"  explained 
the  sergeant,  "and  we  see  we  are  in  wrong.  We 
see  we  made  a  mistake  in  taking  you  prisoner. 
We  had  ought  to  shot  you  dead.  So  now  we're 
going  to  shoot  you  dead." 

"You  can't!"  objected  Lathrop.  "It's  too 
late.  You  should  have  thought  of  that  sooner." 

"I  know,"  admitted  the  sergeant,  "but  a  pris 
oner  is  a  hell  of  a  nuisance.  If  you  got  a  prisoner 
to  look  after  you  can't  do  your  own  work;  you  got 
to  keep  tabs  on  him.  And  there  ain't  nothing  in 
it  for  the  prisoner,  neither.  If  we  take  you,  you'll 
have  to  tramp  all  the  way  to  our  army,  and  all  the 
way  back.  But,  if  you're  dead,  how  different! 
You  ain't  no  bother  to  anybody.  You  got  a  half 
holiday  all  to  yourself,  and  you  can  loaf  around 
the  camp,  so  dead  that  they  can't  make  you  work, 
but  not  so  dead  you  can't  smoke  or  eat."  The 
sergeant  smiled  ingratiatingly.  In  a  tempting 
manner  he  exhibited  his  rifle.  "Better  be  dead," 
he  urged. 

"I'd  like  to  oblige  you,"  said  Lathrop,  "but 
it's  against  the  rules.  You  cant  shoot  a  pris 


oner." 


265 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

The  rat-faced  soldier  uttered  an  angry  exclama 
tion.  "To  hell  with  the  rules!"  he  cried.  "We 
can't  waste  time  on  him.  Turn  him  loose!" 

The  older  man  rounded  on  the  little  one  sav 
agely.  The  tone  in  which  he  addressed  him  was 
cold,  menacing,  sinister.  His  words  were  simple, 
but  his  eyes  and  face  were  heavy  with  warning. 

"Who  is  running  this  ?"  he  asked. 

The  little  soldier  muttered,  and  shuffled  away. 
From  under  the  brim  of  his  campaign  hat,  his  eyes 
cast  furtive  glances  up  and  down  the  road.  As 
though  anxious  to  wipe  out  the  effect  of  his  com 
rade's  words,  the  sergeant  addressed  Lathrop 
suavely  and  in  a  tone  of  conciliation. 

"You  see,"  he  explained,  "him  and  me  are 
scouts.  We're  not  supposed  to  waste  time  taking 
prisoners.  So,  we'll  set  you  free."  He  waved  his 
hand  invitingly  toward  the  bicycle.  "You  can 
go!"  he  said. 

To  Miss  Farrar's  indignation  Lathrop,  instead 
of  accepting  his  freedom,  remained  motionless. 

"I  can't!"  he  said.  "I'm  on  post.  My  cap 
tain  ordered  me  to  stay  in  front  of  this  house  until 
I  was  relieved." 

Miss  Farrar,  amazed  at  such  duplicity,  ex 
claimed  aloud: 

"He  is  not  on  post!"  she  protested.  "He's  a 
266 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

scout!  He  wants  to  stop  here,  because — because 
— he's  hungry.  I  wouldn't  have  let  you  take  him 
prisoner,  if  I  had  not  thought  you  would  take  him 
away  with  you."  She  appealed  to  the  sergeant. 
"Please  take  him  away,"  she  begged. 

The  sergeant  turned  sharply  upon  his  prisoner. 

"Why  don't  you  do  what  the  lady  wants  ?"  he 
demanded. 

"  Because  I've  got  to  do  what  my  captain  wants," 
returned  Lathrop,  "and  he  put  me  on  sentry-go,  in 
front  of  this  house." 

With  the  back  of  his  hand,  the  sergeant  fret 
fully  scraped  the  three  days'  growth  on  his  chin. 
"There's  nothing  to  it,"  he  exclaimed,  "but 
for  to  take  him  with  us.  When  we  meet  some 
more  Reds  we'll  turn  him  over.  Fall  in!"  he 
commanded. 

"No!"  protested  Lathrop.  "I  don't  want  to  be 
turned  over.  I've  got  a  much  better  plan.  You 
don't  want  to  be  bothered  with  a  prisoner.  7 
don't  want  to  be  a  prisoner.  As  you  say,  I  am 
better  dead.  You  can't  shoot  a  prisoner,  but  if 
he  tries  to  escape  you  can.  I'll  try  to  escape.  You 
shoot  me.  Then  I  return  to  my  own  army,  and 
report  myself  dead.  That  ends  your  difficulty 
and  saves  me  from  a  court-martial.  They  can't 
court-martial  a  corpse." 

267 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

The  face  of  the  sergeant  flashed  with  relief  and 
satisfaction.  In  his  anxiety  to  rid  himself  of  his 
prisoner,  he  lifted  the  bicycle  into  the  road  and 
held  it  in  readiness. 

"You're  all  right!"  he  said,  heartily.  "You 
can  make  your  getaway  as  quick  as  you  like/' 

But  to  the  conspiracy  Miss  Farrar  refused  to 
lend  herself. 

"How  do  you  know,"  she  demanded,  "that  he 
will  keep  his  promise  ?  He  may  not  go  back  to 
his  own  army.  He  can  be  just  as  dead  on  my 
lawn  as  anywhere  else!" 

Lathrop  shook  his  head  at  her  sadly. 

"How  you  wrong  me!"  he  protested.  "How 
dare  you  doubt  the  promise  of  a  dying  man  ? 
These  are  really  my  last  words,  and  I  wish  I  could 
think  of  something  to  say  suited  to  the  occasion, 
but  the  presence  of  strangers  prevents." 

He  mounted  his  bicycle.  "'If  I  had  a  thou 
sand  lives  to  give,5"  he  quoted  with  fervor,  "'I'd 
give  them  all  to — '"  he  hesitated,  and  smiled 
mournfully  on  Miss  Farrar.  Seeing  her  flushed 
and  indignant  countenance,  he  added,  with  haste, 
"to  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts!" 

As  he  started  on  his  wheel  slowly  down  the  path, 
he  turned  to  the  sergeant. 

"I'm  escaping,"  he  explained.  The  Reds,  with 
268 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

an  enthusiasm  undoubtedly  genuine,  raised  their 
rifles,  and  the  calm  of  the  Indian  summer  was 
shattered  by  two  sharp  reports.  Lathrop,  look 
ing  back  over  his  shoulder,  waved  one  hand  re 
assuringly. 

"Death  was  instantaneous/'  he  called.  He 
bent  his  body  over  the  handle-bar,  and  they 
watched  him  disappear  rapidly  around  the  turn  in 
the  road. 

Miss  Farrar  sighed  with  relief. 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  she  said. 

As  though  signifying  that  to  oblige  a  woman  he 
would  shoot  any  number  of  prisoners,  the  sergeant 
raised  his  hat. 

"Don't  mention  it,  lady,"  he  said.  "I  seen 
he  was  annoying  you,  and  that's  why  I  got  rid 
of  him.  Some  of  them  amateur  soldiers,  as  soon 
as  they  get  into  uniform,  are  too  fresh.  He 
took  advantage  of  you  because  your  folks  were 
away  from  home.  But  don't  you  worry  about 
that.  I'll  guard  this  house  until  your  folks  get 
back." 

Miss  Farrar  protested  warmly. 

"Really!"  she  exclaimed;  "I  need  no  one  to 
guard  me." 

But  the  soldier  was  obdurate.  He  motioned 
his  comrade  down  the  road. 

269 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"Watch  at  the  turn,"  he  ordered;  "he  may 
come  back  or  send  some  of  the  Blues  to  take  us. 
Pll  stay  here  and  protect  the  lady." 

Again  Miss  Farrar  protested,  but  the  sergeant, 
in  a  benign  and  fatherly  manner,  smiled  ap 
provingly.  Seating  himself  on  the  grass  outside 
the  fence,  he  leaned  his  back  against  the  gate 
post,  apparently  settling  himself  for  conversation. 

"Now,  how  long  might  it  have  been,"  he  asked, 
"before  we  showed  up,  that  you  seen  us  ?" 

"I  saw  you,"  Miss  Farrar  said,  "when  Mr. — 
when  that  bicycle  scout  was  talking  to  me.  I  saw 
the  red  bands  on  your  hats  among  the  bushes." 

The  sergeant  appeared  interested. 

"But  why  didn't  you  let  on  to  him  ?" 

Miss  Farrar  laughed  evasively. 

"Maybe  because  I  am  from  New  York,  too," 
she  said.  "Perhaps  I  wanted  to  see  soldiers  from 
my  city  take  a  prisoner." 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  sudden  appear 
ance  of  the  smaller  soldier.  On  his  rat-like  coun 
tenance  was  written  deep  concern. 

"When  I  got  to  the  turn,"  he  began,  breath 
lessly,  "  I  couldn't  see  him.  Where  did  he  go  ? 
Did  he  double  back  through  the  woods,  or  did 
he  have  time  to  ride  out  of  sight  before  I  got 
there?" 

270 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

The  reappearance  of  his  comrade  affected  the 
sergeant  strangely.  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  his 
under  jaw  protruding  truculently,  his  eyes  flash 
ing  with  anger. 

"Get  back,"  he  snarled.  "Do  what  I  told 
you!" 

Under  his  breath  he  muttered  words  that,  to 
Miss  Farrar,  were  unintelligible.  The  little  rat- 
like  man  nodded,  and  ran  from  them  down  the 
road.  The  sergeant  made  an  awkward  gesture  of 
apology. 

"Excuse  me,  lady,"  he  begged,  "but  it  makes 
me  hot  when  them  rookies  won't  obey  orders. 
You  see,"  he  ran  on  glibly,  "  I'm  a  regular;  served 
three  years  in  the  Philippines,  and  I  can't  get  used 
to  not  having  my  men  do  what  I  say." 

Miss  Farrar  nodded,  and  started  toward  the 
house.  The  sergeant  sprang  quickly  across  the 
road. 

"Have  you  ever  been  in  the  Philippines,  Miss  ?" 
he  called.  "It's  a  great  country." 

Miss  Farrar  halted  and  shook  her  head.  She 
was  considering  how  far  politeness  required  of  her 
to  entertain  unshaven  militiamen,  who  insisted  on 
making  sentries  of  themselves  at  her  front  gate. 

The  sergeant  had  plunged  garrulously  into  a 
confusing  description  of  the  Far  East.  He  was 

271 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

clasping  the  pickets  of  the  fence  with  his  hands, 
and  his  eyes  were  fastened  on  hers.  He  lacked 
neither  confidence  nor  vocabulary,  and  not  for  an 
instant  did  his  tongue  hesitate  or  his  eyes  wander, 
and  yet  in  his  manner  there  was  nothing  at  which 
she  could  take  offence.  He  appeared  only  ami 
ably  vain  that  he  had  seen  much  of  the  world,  and 
anxious  to  impress  that  fact  upon  another.  Miss 
Farrar  was  bored,  but  the  man  gave  her  no  oppor 
tunity  to  escape.  In  consequence  she  was  relieved 
when  the  noisy  approach  of  an  automobile  brought 
him  to  an  abrupt  pause.  Coming  rapidly  down 
the  road  was  a  large  touring-car,  filled  with  men  in 
khaki.  The  sergeant  gave  one  glance  at  it,  and 
leaped  across  the  road,  taking  cover  behind  the 
stone  wall.  Instantly  he  raised  his  head  above  it 
and  shook  his  fist  at  Miss  Farrar. 

"Don't  tell,"  he  commanded.  "They're  Blues 
in  that  car!  Don't  tell!"  Again  he  sank  from 
sight. 

Miss  Farrar  now  was  more  than  bored,  she  was 
annoyed.  Why  grown  men  should  play  at  war 
so  seriously  she  could  not  understand.  It  was 
absurd!  She  no  longer  would  remain  a  party  to 
it;  and,  lest  the  men  in  the  car  might  involve  her 
still  further,  she  retreated  hastily  toward  the 
house.  As  she  opened  the  door  the  car  halted  at 

272 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

the  gate,  and  voices  called  to  her,  but  she  pretended 
not  to  hear  them,  and  continued  up  the  stairs. 
Behind  her  the  car  passed  noisily  on  its  way. 

She  mounted  the  stairs,  and  crossing  a  landing 
moved  down  a  long  hall,  at  the  further  end  of  which 
was  her  bedroom.  The  hall  was  uncarpeted,  but 
the  tennis  shoes  she  wore  made  no  sound,  nor  did 
the  door  of  her  bedroom  when  she  pushed  it 
open. 

On  the  threshold  Miss  Farrar  stood  quite  still. 
A  swift,  sinking  nausea  held  her  in  a  vice.  Her 
instinct  was  to  scream  and  run,  but  her  throat  had 
tightened  and  gone  dry,  and  her  limbs  trembled. 
Opposite  the  door  was  her  dressing-table,  and  re 
flected  in  its  mirror  were  the  features  and  figure  of 
the  rat-like  soldier.  His  back  was  toward  her. 
With  one  hand  he  swept  the  dressing-table.  The 
other,  hanging  at  his  side,  held  a  revolver.  In  a 
moment  the  panic  into  which  Miss  Farrar  had 
been  thrown  passed.  Her  breath  and  blood  re 
turned,  and,  intent  only  on  flight,  she  softly  turned. 
On  the  instant  the  rat-faced  one  raised  his  eyes, 
saw  her  reflected  in  the  mirror,  and  with  an  oath, 
swung  toward  her.  He  drew  the  revolver  close 
to  his  cheek,  and  looked  at  her  down  the  barrel. 
"Don't  move!"  he  whispered;  "don't  scream! 
Where  are  the  jewels  ?" 

273 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

Miss  Farrar  was  not  afraid  of  the  revolver  or  of 
the  man.  She  did  not  believe  either  would  do  her 
harm.  The  idea  of  both  the  presence  of  the  man 
in  her  room,  and  that  any  one  should  dare  to 
threaten  her  was  what  filled  her  with  repugnance. 
As  the  warm  blood  flowed  again  through  her  body 
her  spirit  returned.  She  was  no  longer  afraid. 
She  was,  instead,  indignant,  furious. 

With  one  step  she  was  in  the  room,  leaving  the 
road  to  the  door  open. 

"Get  out  of  here,"  she  commanded. 

The  little  man  snarled,  and  stamped  the  floor. 
He  shoved  the  gun  nearer  to  her. 

"The  jewels,  damn  you!"  he  whispered.  "Do 
you  want  me  to  blow  your  fool  head  off?  Where 
are  the  jewels  ?" 

"Jewels?"  repeated  Miss  Farrar.  "I  have  no 
jewels ! " 

"You  lie!"  shrieked  the  little  man.  "He  said 
the  house  was  full  of  jewels.  We  heard  him.  He 
said  he  would  stay  to  guard  the  jewels." 

Miss  Farrar  recognized  his  error.  She  remem 
bered  Lathrop's  jest,  and  that  it  had  been  made 
while  the  two  men  were  within  hearing,  behind 
the  stone  wall. 

"It  was  a  joke!"  she  cried.  "Leave  at  once!" 
She  backed  swiftly  toward  the  open  window  that 

274 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

looked  upon  the  road.     "Or  Pll  call  your  ser 
geant!" 

"If  you  go  near  that  window  or  scream,"  whis 
pered  the  rat-like  one,  "I'll  shoot!" 

A  heavy  voice,  speaking  suddenly  from  the 
doorway,  shook  Miss  Farrar' s  jangled  nerves  into 
fresh  panic. 

"She  won't  scream,"  said  the  voice. 

In  the  door  Miss  Farrar  saw  the  bulky  form  of 
the  sergeant,  blocking  her  escape. 

Without  shifting  his  eyes  from  Miss  Farrar,  the 
man  with  the  gun  cursed  breathlessly  at  the  other. 
"Why  didn't  you  keep  her  away  ?"  he  panted. 

"An  automobile  stopped  in  front  of  the  gate,'* 
explained  the  sergeant.  "Have  you  got  them?" 
he  demanded. 

"No!"  returned  the  other.  "Nothing!  She 
won't  tell  where  they  are." 

The  older  man  laughed.  "Oh,  yes,  she'll  tell," 
he  whispered.  His  voice  was  still  low  and  suave, 
but  it  carried  with  it  the  weight  of  a  threat,  and 
the  threat,  although  unspoken,  filled  Miss  Farrar 
with  alarm.  Her  eyes,  wide  with  concern,  turned 
fearfully  from  one  man  to  the  other. 

The  sergeant  stretched  his  hands  toward  her, 
the  fingers  working  and  making  clutches  in  the  air. 
The  look  in  his  eyes  was  quite  terrifying. 

275 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"If  you  don't  tell,"  he  said  slowly,  "HI  choke  it 
out  of  you ! " 

If  his  intention  was  to  frighten  the  girl,  he  suc 
ceeded  admirably.  With  her  hands  clasped  to  her 
throat,  Miss  Farrar  sank  against  the  wall.  She 
saw  no  chance  of  escape.  The  way  to  the  door  was 
barred,  and  should  she  drop  to  the  garden  below, 
from  the  window,  before  she  could  reach  the  road 
the  men  would  overtake  her.  Even  should  she 
reach  the  road,  the  house  nearest  was  a  half  mile 
distant. 

The  sergeant  came  close,  his  fingers  opening 
and  closing  in  front  of  her  eyes.  He  raised  his 
voice  to  a  harsh,  bellowing  roar.  "Fm  going  to 
make  you  tell!"  he  shouted.  "Fm  going  to  choke 
it  out  of  you ! " 

Although  she  was  alone  in  the  house,  although 
on  every  side  the  pine  woods  encompassed  her, 
Miss  Farrar  threw  all  'her  strength  into  one  long, 
piercing  cry  for  help.  And  upon  the  instant  it 
was  answered.  From  the  hall  came  the  swift 
rush  of  feet.  The  rat-like  one  swung  toward  it. 
From  his  revolver  came  a  report  that  shook  the 
room,  a  flash  and  a  burst  of  smoke,  and  through 
it  Miss  Farrar  saw  Lathrop  hurl  himself.  He 
dived  at  the  rat-like  one,  and  as  on  the  foot-ball 
field  he  had  been  taught  to  stop  a  runner,  flung 

276 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

his  arms  around  the  other's  knees.  The  legs  of 
the  man  shot  from  under  him,  his  body  cut  a  half 
circle  through  the  air,  and  the  part  of  his  anatomy 
to  first  touch  the  floor  was  his  head.  The  floor 
was  of  oak,  and  the  impact  gave  forth  a  crash  like 
the  smash  of  a  base-ball  bat,  when  it  drives  the 
ball  to  centre  field.  The  man  did  not  move.  He 
did  not  even  groan.  In  his  relaxed  fingers  the 
revolver  lay,  within  reach  of  Lathrop's  hand.  He 
fell  upon  it  and,  still  on  his  knees,  pointed  it  at  the 
sergeant. 

"You're  my  prisoner,  now!"  he  shouted  cheer 
fully.  "Hands  up!" 

The  man  raised  his  arms  slowly,  as  if  he  were 
lifting  heavy  dumb-bells. 

"The  lady  called  for  help,"  he  said.  "I  came 
to  help  her." 

"No!  No!"  protested  the  girl.  "He  did  not 
help  me!  He  said  he  would  choke  me  if  I 
didn't " 

"He  said  he  would — what!"  bellowed  Lathrop. 
He  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  sent  the  gun  spinning 
through  the  window.  He  stepped  toward  the  man 
gingerly,  on  the  balls  of  his  feet,  like  one  walking 
on  ice.  The  man  seemed  to  know  what  that  form 
of  approach  threatened,  for  he  threw  his  arms  into 
a  position  of  defence. 

277 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

"You  bully!"  whispered  Lathrop.  "You  cow 
ard!  You  choke  women,  do  you  ?" 

He  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  his  body 
balancing  forward,  his  arms  swinging  limply  in 
front  of  him.  With  his  eyes,  he  seemed  to  un 
dress  the  man,  as  though  choosing  a  place  to 
strike. 

"I  made  the  same  mistake  you  did,"  he  taunted. 
"I  should  have  killed  you  first.  Now  I  am  going 
to  do  it!" 

He  sprang  at  the  man,  his  chin  still  sunk  on  his 
chest,  but  with  his  arms  swinging  like  the  spokes 
of  a  wheel.  His  opponent  struck  back  heavily, 
violently,  but  each  move  of  his  arm  seemed  only 
to  open  up  some  vulnerable  spot.  Blows  beat 
upon  his  chin,  upon  his  nose,  his  eyes;  blows 
jabbed  him  in  the  ribs,  drove  his  breath  from  his 
stomach,  ground  his  teeth  together,  cut  the  flesh 
from  his  cheeks.  He  sank  to  his  knees,  with  his 
arms  clasping  his  head. 

"Get  up!"  roared  Lathrop.  "Stand  up  to  it, 
you  coward ! " 

But  the  man  had  no  idea  of  standing  up  to  it. 
Howling  with  pain,  he  scrambled  toward  the  door, 
and  fled  staggering  down  the  hall. 

At  the  same  moment  the  automobile  that  a  few 
minutes  before  had  passed  up  the  road  came  limp- 

278 


Peace  Manoeuvres 

ing  to  the  gate,  and  a  half-dozen  men  in  uniform 
sprang  out  of  it.  From  the  window  Lathrop  saw 
them  spread  across  the  lawn  and  surround  the 
house. 

"They've  got  him!"  he  said.  He  pointed  to 
the  prostrate  figure  on  the  floor.  "He  and  the 
other  one,"  he  explained,  breathlessly,  "are  New 
York  crooks!  They  have  been  looting  in  the  wake 
of  the  Reds,  disguised  as  soldiers.  I  knew  they 
weren't  even  amateur  soldiers  by  the  mistakes  in 
their  make-up,  and  I  made  that  bluff  of  riding 
away  so  as  to  give  them  time  to  show  what  the 
game  was.  Then,  that  provost  guard  in  the  motor 
car  stopped  me,  and  when  they  said  who  they 
were  after,  I  ordered  them  back  here.  But  they 
had  a  flat  tire,  and  my  bicycle  beat  them." 

In  his  excitement  he  did  not  notice  that  the 
girl  was  not  listening,  that  she  was  very  pale,  that 
she  was  breathing  quickly,  and  trembling. 

"I'll  go  tell  them,"  he  added,  "that  the  other 
one  they  want  is  up  here." 

Miss  Farrar's  strength  instantly  returned. 

With  a  look  of  terror  at  the  now  groaning  figure 
on  the  floor,  she  sprang  toward  Lathrop,  with  both 
hands  clutching  him  by  his  sleeves. 

"You  will  not!"  she  commanded.  "You  will 
not  leave  me  alone ! " 

279 


Once  Upon  a  Time 

Appealingly  she  raised  her  face  to  his  startled 
countenance.  With  a  burst  of  tears  she  threw 
herself  into  his  arms.  "I'm  afraid!"  she  sobbed. 
"Don't  leave  me.  Please,  no  matter  what  I  say, 
never  leave  me  again!" 

Between  bewilderment  and  joy,  the  face  of  La- 
throp  was  unrecognizable.  As  her  words  reached 
him,  as  he  felt  the  touch  of  her  body  in  his  arms, 
and  her  warm,  wet  cheek  against  his  own,  he  drew 
a  deep  sigh  of  content,  and  then,  fearfully  and 
tenderly,  held  her  close. 

After  a  pause,  in  which  peace  came  to  all  the 
world,  he  raised  his  head. 

"Don't  worry!"  he  said.  "You  can  let  I  won't 
leave  you!" 


280 


AN  INITIAL  jlSTniP  25  CENTg 


JUN  16  193J 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


